Beautiful at Heart
by cmartlover
Summary: Ever since he lost his sight, John Smith (Eleven) had always felt out of place. Lonely. A drifter. People either turned away or pitied him- The Blind Man. He never imagined how quickly his life would change-on one particular day. The day he nearly lost his life. The day he met Melody Williams. The day she saved him. [an 11/River AU]
1. Saved

**Author's Note: So, I came up with this AU this morning. Planning on writing more, so I'd love to know what you think!**

* * *

Savoring the warmth of the sun on his skin, the man stopped, gently tugging at the leash to alert his dog that he wanted to stand for a moment.

The battered pavement rested beneath his boots as the cars in front soared past, their familiar exhaust fumes reaching his nostrils.

Everything around him always moved so fast,_ zoom-zoom-screech-zoom;_ he felt so out of place, a lost soul stuck amidst the chaos and the clamor of the world but never truly a part of it, a man frozen in time.

He heard the traffic halt, listened for any outlying vehicles, before letting his animal companion tug him forward.

But a quarter of the way to the other side of the road he began to sense that something was wrong—the sudden gust of wind against his side, the loud barking of his dog.

_"Look out!"_ a woman screamed from behind as the unmistakable engine of a car skirted closer, closer, closer, deafening his ears, rendering him paralyzed and confused, until a pair of strong arms broke through the insanity, pulling him to safety.

His breathing sped up, his heart beating rapidly, _thumpthump-thumpthump-thumpthump, _and only then did he realize how his body was shaking.

"It's okay, it's fine, I've got you, you're going to be fine." The frantic voice from earlier now soothed him.

He flexed his hand, suddenly terrified at the absence of the leash.

"Where's Idris! _Idris!"_

"Who's Idris?" the woman asked softly, her arms still firmly around him.

"My dog."

"Shhhh. Shhh. It's okay. I've got her. She's right here." She brought his trembling hand to the familiar soft fur, and he knelt down immediately, clutching the animal like a lifeline.

"Oh, I'm so glad you're safe, Old Girl." The golden retriever licked his face. Feeling around for the woman's hand, John squeezed it tightly. "Thank you. You're very kind." He smiled.

"No problem."

"What happened? I thought the road was clear." John mumbled.

"Well, apparently not. But you couldn't have known. And you're fine now, that's all that matters."

"What about you, though? You—you just—just pulled me out of a busy street! Are you okay? Are you hurt?" his voice quivered.

"No, I'm fine, Sweetie." She brushed his fringe to the side. "Promise."

_Sweetie?_ A blush crept into his cheeks.

"Come on, dear, let's get you to a bench or something." Looping an arm around his shoulder, she led them off the street and to a small London park. "Here you go." The kind woman perched herself beside him, Idris lying at their feet.

"Okay. Th-thank you, again. You didn't have to do that, you know." He whispered, fingers reaching for her face. "May I-? I mean, I—I'd like to get an idea of what my rescuer looks like."

"Of course." Her response surprised him; normally people would flinch and turn away. But she pressed his hand to her cheek, letting him stroke the contour of her face—her full cheeks, magnificent nose—and oh that hair—corkscrew curls that sifted through his fingers like silk.

_Wow. You're beautiful._

"Thank you, Sweetie." She giggled softly.

"H-hang on, did I—did I just say that out loud?" his heart fluttered. He withdrew, embarrassed. "S-sorry. You must think I'm mad. I just—I needed to—it's how I remember people—since I can't—I mean…"

"I don't mind."

"Really? Most people do. They think it's weird. Or they just shrug and pity me. But you don't, do you? You're different. Why?"

He could hear her weary lapse of breath.

"Because I understand. My dad's blind. I've helped mum take care of him for years. I saw firsthand how people began to treat him after his accident, and I _know_ how it hurts him. How could I do that to someone else?"

"Hmmm. Wish other people thought like that. And I meant what I said, you know. You are beautiful. In the best way. You have a beautiful heart."

His words drifted amid the air.

A sudden ringing interrupted the heartfelt moment.

"Oh, gosh, I'm sorry, I have to get this." A pause. "Mum? Yeah, sorry. Something came up; I had to help someone…I know, I'm sorry, but it was important…Yes, I'll be there as soon as possible…Love you, too, bye."

She sighed.

"I..erm…have to get my brother. I'm supposed to pick him up from school. My mum was worried."

"Was I—was I holding you up? I'm sorry, if I'd known, I would've—"

"No, no, it's fine. I promise, it's fine…So…you're definitely okay? Do you know where you are? Do you need help getting home? Should I call someone?" she sounded frantic, slightly uncomfortable, and he wondered if he should've kept his thoughts to himself.

"Nope. I recognize the place. And I've got my mobile right here. I'll just call my sister, Clara, and she'll pick me up in a jiff. I'll be fine. Thank you again."

"You're welcome."

"Hang on—I never caught your name—"

But she'd already gone out of earshot, leaving the young man lost to his thoughts.

_Who are you?_

He wondered if he'd ever know.

* * *

John Smith fidgeted nervously with his bowtie as his sister led him down the familiar corridor.

"John, I keep telling you, it'll be great! You love your job! The whole summer you're bored out of your mind, and you're always saying how much you miss teaching. Come on, aren't you meeting your new assistant professor today?"

Groaning, he shrugged his shoulders, unable to hide the paranoia.

"It's not that simple, Clara…"

"Hey," she halted, turning to face him. "I know how much you miss Donna. She was your best friend, John, and I understand that, believe me, I do. But after the amnesia…it wasn't safe for her to come back. Just keep an open mind all right?" Her hand cupped his cheek.

"Okay…"

Satisfied with herself, Clara looped her arm through his, practically yanking him to the door of his office.

"Well, here we are. I suspect the assistant professor will be here shortl—" A shuffling noise caught her attention. "Actually, I think she's already inside. One sec."

She poked her head at the door window, eyes locking onto the striking woman at the desk.

"It's your lucky day, John. She's gorgeous."

"Oh, shut up, Clara." John retorted, perplexed.

"Just thought you should know. Now, go knock on the door so she knows you're here." Clara instructed.

"I'm not a five-year-old, Clara; I know how to handle myself in these situations." Although he couldn't see her, he imagined his sister must've rolled her eyes.

Knocking softly, John opened the door, hearing the woman's surprised gasp.

"I'm sorry. Didn't mean to startle you. I'm rubbish when it comes to first impressions. My sister here can attest to that. Anyway…hello…I'm the professor of historical studies, Dr. John Smith. And you are?"

"Melody Williams." She breathed, shaking his hand.

"Lovely name, Melody." Her hand quivered slightly in his. "Wish you'd told me that the last time we met." He smiled shyly, having quickly recognized the voice and touch of the woman who'd saved him.

"Wait—you know her?"

"Well, we met once. Last month. Remember that day I almost got run over? This is the woman who saved me. Have to say, I had no idea she'd be my new assistant professor."

"You mean the woman you never stop talking about?"

"Clara!" John blushed, scratching his cheek.

"Glad to know I left an impression on you, Sweetie."

"Oh, she calls you Sweetie, too! No wonder you can't stop thinking about her." She chuckled to herself. "Anyway…" Her tone grew serious, empathetic. "Thank you for saving my brother. Not many people would do that, you know. Much as I love to wind him up, I really am grateful, truly. It was nice to meet you, Melody. See ya later, John."

* * *

"Don't mind her; she's just my sister." He waved his hand in dismissal, setting his bag on his desk. "Tell me, Melody, what brought you here?"

"I'm actually looking to be a professor of archaeology someday. But this position was open, and I thought I could use the experience, and well, my dad's blind, so I thought assisting a blind professor wouldn't be much of a stretch."

"Archaeology, eh?"

"Yeah. I double majored in archaeology and historical studies. Got my master's degree. Still working on my doctorate."

"So that would put you around your mid-twenties, maybe?"

Melody laughed.

"N-no. I'm actually 30. Got a late start after I spent a few years helping my dad."

"I see. Only a year younger than me, then. Hmmm." His fingers tapped atop the desk. "I suppose you know that your job is fairly specialized. Not your ordinary assistant teaching position. It can be quite frustrating at times. Having no sight inhibits me from doing tasks ordinary professors would have no issue with. Like writing lesson plans, grading papers and providing visuals for my students. We'll have to collaborate a lot. You prepared for that, Ms. Williams?" he challenged.

"Always."

* * *

Soon enough, the students returned, and Melody had never seen John so happy, so in his element.

On the first day, he entered the room, looking much like a madcap professor, tweed jacket, red bowtie and all.

"Hello, everyone! Hope you enjoyed your summer holidays! I'm Dr. John Smith, and I'll be your history professor for this semester! How exciting! And this is my assistant professor, Ms. Melody Williams, who is well-qualified in the field, and I lover of history herself. She will be assisting me throughout the class and occasionally giving lectures, too. She's brilliant! You'll love her!" his hands gestured wildly to the class, and Melody felt relieved that he couldn't see her blush.

John continued in much the same fashion, the students quickly warming up to him.

They looked so engaged, which was often a rarity, Melody knew, especially with university students. She'd had her share of dull professors in the past. But Dr. John Smith was anything but dull.

Enthusiasm just oozed off of him and onto everybody else in the room.

He clearly loved teaching and adored his students; Blindness never set him back.

Sometimes, when John Smith was engaged in his lecture, hands fluttering about, bright smile on his face, Melody forgot he was blind. But then he would flash her one of those sideways looks and she would remember, taking the cue to write on the board.

* * *

Over time, they developed a sort of language.

She could read his gestures and expressions better than a well-worn book. And he could read her too—he knew her mood by her tone of voice or her pattern of breathing. What he lacked in sight, he made up for in other senses—hence the impeccable hearing.

Together, they made quite the team and got along rather well, apart from the daily bickering.

"No, Melody, that can't be right! I have a perfect memory and I know the date you're giving me is wrong!" he huffed.

"Well, Sweetie, according to my research from the _latest and most respectable_ historians in the field, it happened in 1876. Not 1863."

"Did not! It couldn't have! It doesn't make any sense, Melody!"

"But that's the date the students' textbook has, Sweetie." She reasoned, placing a consoling hand on his shoulder.

"Forget the textbook, Melody. It's rubbish and inaccurate and biased and stupid!" his back hit the chair harder than he'd anticipated.

Melody sighed.

"You haven't eaten lunch yet, have you?" Crossing her arms over her chest, she eyed him wearily.

"I…erm…I may have accidently left it at home." He admitted sheepishly.

"You really are the absent-minded professor, aren't you, Sweetie?" Her hand subconsciously drifted to his bowtie, and she straightened it fondly.

Opening her lunch bag, Melody removed its contents and passed them over to John.

"Here. BLT. And don't give me that look because I know for a fact you love those." Her voice grew stern. "Now, stop groping and eat! You still have a few classes left!"

"But Melody!" he protested, his face scrunching up. "This is your lunch. I—I can't possibly eat it! That would be incredibly rude and selfish of me. What will you eat, then?"

"I could just go grab something in the faculty lounge. Or wait until I get home."

"No, no, that's not fair to you…I can't eat this…"

"I'm not the one lecturing for the next hour, so yes, you can and you will, and if you don't I will make you."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, really. Now eat."

_But it's your birthday!_ John almost exclaimed, before reconsidering. Gentle though she could be, Melody was also very strong willed and he found it best not to argue with her when she'd made up her mind. It usually ended in him feeling like an idiot.

"Fine, _Melody_! You're worse than my sister!"

* * *

While John scarfed down that BLT, Melody leaned back on her desk, tired of their arguing.

It was then that she noticed it in the corner of her eye, a small vase filled with flowers. Beside the vase, a note was written in scraggly handwriting, 'For Melody. Happy Birthday. X'

Her heart thudded and she took a shaky breath. The red carnations looked pitiful—half of them wilting and withered.

"What is this, a joke?" she wondered aloud, mind whirring.

"What, what is it? What's wrong?" John's head shot up instantly. "Melody?"

"Someone thought it would be funny to give me wilted flowers as a birthday present. Who even knows that my birthday is today, anyway? And look, they even made a note. With the sloppiest handwriting I've ever seen. Must be a grad student. They probably looked up my information and thought this would be a hilarious prank. Well, we'll see about that." Angry, she chucked the bouquet in the rubbish bin. "Some birthday this turned out to be."

* * *

"You've been awfully quiet since your last lecture, John, something wrong?" Melody wondered.

"I'm just…worried about you. Are you feeling alright? After earlier?" his voice filled with emotion.

"John, what—oh, you mean the flower thing? I thought we settled that it was some stupid joke. I'm over it now—"

"Melody… I'm the one who got you the flowers." He whispered softly, hand sifting through his hair.

"What?" she squeaked, suddenly horrified.

"I…I picked them out myself this morning. That's—that's why I forgot my lunch. I was…distracted. I thought maybe they would…brighten your day. Obviously not. Sorry. The note was also from me. I haven't been blind my whole life, so I can still write sometimes…but my handwriting's rubbish because I can't see. I was hoping to get you a better present…when I had more time…I'm so sorry, Melody…"

"John…Oh gosh…I'm an awful person." A tear slipped down her cheek.

"No, you're wonderful, Melody." John stroked her face, hand trembling as he wiped her tears. "Really. I'm very sorry for upsetting you."

"I'm the one who should be sorry. I—I wasn't thinking—I never thought—that you would…" she sniffled, extricating the wilted bouquet from the rubbish bin and carefully placing it back in the vase. "Sweetie, this is the sweetest thing anyone's ever done for me. Thank you." Melody kissed his cheek. "Thank you." She giggled this time, watching as his face turned bright red. "John, you're beautiful, too, you know. You've got a beautiful heart."

"So do you. Happy birthday, Melody." He squeezed her hand comfortingly, just as she'd done the first time they met.

"Do you…would you…like to come over to my parents' house for my birthday dinner? It would be a shame for my best friend to miss it. Especially considering how awful I've been to him today."

" 'Course I'll come. Wouldn't miss it for the world." His grin brightened.

"Good. Just wait 'til you meet my mother. She'll _love_ you. I just know it."

"Wait…she's Scottish, isn't she?" he croaked.

"What? Yeah, so?"

"She'll eat me alive, Melody!"

"Oh, shut up, you'll be fine. _I promise_."


	2. Running

**Author's Note: So, here's the next chapter. Hope you enjoy:)**

* * *

Perched in the passenger seat of Melody's car, John lay back, relaxing, listening to the soothing sound of Melody's voice.

"I called Mum a couple hours ago, and she's chuffed that you're coming. You'll get to meet Dad and Anthony too."

"Your adopted brother, right?"

"Yeah. I think you'll like him a lot."

"Well, if he's got a big sister like you to look up too, I have no doubt I will." John grinned like an idiot. "Melody?"

"What?"

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"Being you."

* * *

The whole way up the stairs to her parents' house, Melody held John's hand, carefully guiding him to the door. Blind or not, he was inherently clumsy, and she wasn't about to let her best friend trip over his own shoelaces and fall to his very ill-timed death on her birthday of all days.

His fingers still trembled in hers when they reached the top.

"Really, Sweetie, will you stop worrying?"

"Worrying? Who said I'm worrying?"

"You haven't stopped fidgeting since we got out of the car." She pointed out, concerned.

"Oh. Erm. Sorry." Shrugging, he tried to stand still, but like a giraffe trying to walk on two legs, he really couldn't manage it.

Having already knocked, Melody waited, tapping her foot nervously as John continued his fidgeting.

_"Comin'! Just give me a mo."_ The unmistakable Scottish cadence echoed through the door.

"That'd be mum."

"So I gathered."

In moments, the middle-aged, ginger-haired woman opened the door, before pulling her daughter into a tight embrace.

"Happy Birthday, Melody." The tenderness in her mother's voice cut straight to Melody's heart. After Amelia Williams drew back, she propped a hand to her hip, eying her daughter's companion eagerly. "Ooh, and this must be John, am I right?"

"Yes." John chuckled nervously, giving Amelia a proper hand-shake. "Lovely to finally meet you, Mrs. Williams."

"Oh, and so formal, Melody! But call me Amelia, John. Seriously. 'Mrs. Williams' makes me feel like an old hag."

_"Amelia!" _A man's voice called from the kitchen.

"What?" Amelia's head jerked at her husband's exclamation.

"Let them in already, will you?"

Turning back to John and Melody, Amelia smiled apologetically.

"Right, come on in, you two, dinner's ready, the table's set, and no, I didn't burn anything Melody, so don't even ask. _Anthony_, your sister's here!"

_"Melody!"_ the high-pitched squeal rang in her ears as the young boy hugged her legs, almost knocking her over. "Happy Birthday, big sister!"

Ruffling her brother's floppy hair, Melody giggled.

"Thank you, Anthony. You couldn't just wait for me to get to the table, could you?"

"I've been waiting _all day_." He whined, lingering on the last two words. "Who's this?" His small finger pointed to the man in the bowtie.

"My friend John. Remember? We work together. I've told you about John before haven't I, Anthony?"

"Hello, Anthony." Crouching on his knees, John lowered himself to the boy's level, offering a hand. But before he could mutter another word, the boy was hugging him too.

"Hi, Mr. John. Welcome to our house. It's very nice. I hope you like the food, even though Mummy's a rubbish cook." He whispered the last part, clearly not wanting his parents to hear.

"Anthony!" Melody scolded.

"Don't talk about your mother like that!" Rory Williams meandered towards his son, hand carefully fingering the wall.

"How did you even hear that?"

"I've told you, I've got ears like Superman."

"Mummy said that's not true." Anthony narrowed his eyes. "Daddy, have you met John? He's Melody's friend."

"No, I've not. Good to meet you, John. I'm Rory. Now, I expect I won't have to brandish my sword any time soon?"

"Sword?" John's brows shot up.

Melody only laughed.

* * *

"And then, just as the car nearly squashes the life out of me, in comes your daughter to the rescue like Wonder Woman, except better. All curls and yowzah. _Amazing_." His hands waved emphatically, and he finished with a flourish.

"You know about Wonder Woman, Mr. John?" Anthony gushed, shocked.

"'Course I do. But you know who's even cooler than Wonder Woman? Your big sister."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous. That's not how it happened at all."Melody's cheeks flushed, and she rolled her eyes, dismissing his flattering remarks.

"It isn't?" the boy squeaked.

"Well, I may have stretched things a bit for effect, but I assure you, the important bits are true. Melody _is_ amazing."

"I'm pleased you think so highly of my daughter. And you're right, obviously." Rory's voice swelled with pride.

"You bet he is." Amelia beamed as she put the cake down. "Our daughter certainly is amazing."

* * *

After a few hours of candle-blowing and cake-eating and present-opening, Melody and John settled into the car.

"Well, that was fun." John quipped while Melody took the driver's seat.

"Yeah. My family bloody loves you. That's a plus." She paused for a moment, silent.

"But did you have a good birthday? Overall, I mean. Even after this morning—"

"Sweetie, I already told you I'm sor—"

"But did you?"

A fond smirk slid across her face.

"Yes, you daft man. It was brilliant. A wonderful birthday. Thank you for tagging along. Goodness knows dinner wouldn't have been nearly as entertaining without you."

* * *

Inching towards John's flat, Melody walked arm in arm with John, providing the support and stability necessary to keep the blind man from injuring himself.

When she recognized the right address, she stopped, slowly dislodging her arm from John's.

"Number 11, right?"

His nod was the only confirmation she needed.

"You called Clara, yeah? You said she'd help get you settled?" Melody fretted, hand anxiously running through her curls.

"Mmm Hmmm."

"Okay, so you're good then? I mean, from here? It's getting late—so I'd better—"

"Yeah." John mumbled, hands in his jacket pockets.

"So I'll just—"

"Yep."

"Okay. Well, thank you again. And goodnight, Sweetie." Melody's eyes drifted over John's slumped form, and she briefly wondered why he looked so timid all of a sudden, but quickly dismissed the thought, taking her cue to leave.

She'd only made it halfway down the corridor when she heard it—his tiny, pitiful plea.

"Melody, w-wait…" the man in the bowtie stuttered nervously, holding a small item in the crook of his arm. "I—I have something for you. I—I mean, you probably won't like it, but here." His fingers trembled as he handed her the package. "Clara helped me wrap it."

Slowly, Melody tore the intricately-patterned wrapping paper, gasping at its contents. A little bag of coins and a well-worn book titled, 'Facts From History: The Bizarre and Unbelievable—What the Textbooks Never Tell You.'

"The...the coins are from my first trip to Rome. We got to do a bit of digging at an archaeological site, and I was lucky enough to find a few coins. The book is my favorite—my dad got it for my birthday one year—in fact, it's what got me into history in the first place. I know it's a bit old, and maybe a bit childish, and you might think it's stupid, but I know how much you love archaeology and—" Melody's sharp intake of breath sent his heart racing. "Melody—? I'm sorry, I-" he started, only to be rendered speechless by the pair of warm arms that drew him into a hug.

"Th-thank you. So much." Melody whispered softly into his chest, her tears soaking into his shirt. "I don't…why did you give these to me? They're so important to you…John, your _dad_…"

"I know. But _you're_ important, Melody Williams." He kissed her forehead, peering down at her with those grey, sightless eyes. "Happy Birthday."

* * *

"How did it go?" Clara wondered as she helped her brother into his flat.

"Okay. Melody's family seemed to like me—especially her mother. That woman is as Scottish as can be, I tell you! I see where Melody gets her feistiness. And her father. Kind man. Bit intimidating, but nice. And her little brother was adorable. Loved listening to my stories."

"Well, I'm not surprised. You can be quite entertaining sometimes." His sister nudged him playfully.

"Yes, well, I do—hey, wait, that was an insult, wasn't it? Melody told me something similar. I swear she's getting as bad as you." Relaxing, John leant back on the sofa.

"Maybe that's why you like her so much." His soft smile quickly became a sheepish frown, and his sister tilted her head, cackling. "Anyway…did you give her the present? How did that bit go?"

"Um…I suppose it went okay. I…erm…almost didn't give it to her." He rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed.

"I know."

"Yeah—you _what_?"

"I know. I saw the whole thing. Quite entertaining." She smirked.

"Clara, that—that was a private moment! You weren't supposed to—and anyway, it doesn't make sense, Melody would've noticed." His babbling elicited another laugh from Clara.

"You're the one who called me to get you situated. And I live in the flat down the hall, so what'd ya expect, chinboy?"

"Don't call me that—I _hate_ that nickname!"

"Fine. But seriously, I wasn't trying to intrude. Not my fault you took your good ol' time comin' home. Though it's always funny to watch you blush."

"_Blush?_ I wasn't blushing!" But his own body betrayed him, heat spreading in his cheeks.

"Then it's terribly funny to watch you get all red and flustered and stutter-y. Also known as blushing. Which you seem to do quite a lot around Melody."

"I—I do not."

"See, pure denial. _Classic_. You even bought her flowers today, didn't you? Picked 'em out yourself. How'd that go? Wait, don't tell me. Bad, I think. Going by your face. You got her wilted ones, am I right? And she thought it was a prank. You are so predictable, John. But obviously you two made up or she wouldn't have invited you to dinner. And then you decided to give her your most prized possessions—the last thing your dad gave you before he died. You wouldn't just do that for anyone."

"She's not anyone." He admitted before he could think to stop himself. "I mean, she's my _best friend_. Of course she's important to me!"

"Just admit it. _You_ fancy her." Clara cocked a brow, smug grin in place.

"I—I do not, Clara. She's just a friend."

"Sure. And you totally don't get all nervous and rubbish and a bit shaky whenever she's around. Or go all red and flustered. And you definitely don't talk about her dreamily under your breath when you think nobody's listening. Or smile like a big dork when she holds your hand to help you get around. John, you clearly fancy her, and that's that."

"I really don't." his hands flailed.

"Why is it so hard to come to terms with? There's no shame in fancying someone. Especially someone as kind and beautiful as Melody."

He blushed at that, scratching his cheek.

"Ask her out, why don't you? If you don't, you'll miss your chance. She's gorgeous and I've seen the way the other professors look at her, particularly a certain Jack Harkness, and I wouldn't put it past him to do something soon."

"You think I don't know that, Clara?" his voice cracked, suddenly raw with emotion. _Where did that come from?_

"Then why don't you just ask her out?"

"It's not that simple! Everything with Melody is complicated. Besides, what she needs right now is a friend, and that's the best I can be! She doesn't see me as anything more, and she won't. Not ever." John sighed.

"And why not?"

"Have you seen me, Clara? I'm a bloody blind man! And do you know what people see me as? An alien. Something appalling. Something different."

"I don't see you like that. And Melody doesn't either. Surely you know that."

"But don't you see? Whether she cares that I'm blind or not, it makes no difference. I still need extra help; I can't do normal things on my own. I can't even look at her properly. I'm blind and ugly and clumsy and stupid and Melody deserves someone better. A man who can compliment her when she looks pretty, or when she's got a new hairdo. A man who can look her in the eyes and tell her she's beautiful and precious and loved. I can _never_ be that man." His shoulders slumped dejectedly, and he wondered why he was telling this to his sister of all people.

A moment of silence passed between them, and Clara placed a comforting hand to his back.

"Maybe you're right. You can't be that man. But you can be so much better. You can be the man who sees her for what she is. The man who sees the beauty of her heart. The man who tries to make her laugh when she's having a bad day. The man who gives up his prized possession just to make her happy even when he can't see the smile on her face. How do I know that? Because it's who you already are, John. I've seen it. And I know Melody has too. Even if you haven't. I know your first instinct is to run away, but what if you've finally found something worth running _to_?"

* * *

Clara's words plagued him all that week, triggering thoughts he knew he shouldn't be having, amplifying the feelings he'd always had but tried to suppress.

He constantly reminded himself that Melody was only his best friend and nothing more; he even tried to pretend she was his sister, but then she'd come in with that laugh that made his heart flutter, or she'd brush her hand against his and he'd find his cheeks strangely warm.

"Something the matter, John?" she asked one day, her voice kind and warm.

"Oh, nothing really. Just thinking about my next lecture. I can't decide which topic is more interesting to discuss—the End of the Roman Empire or the End of the Han dynasty in China."

"Couldn't you talk about both?"

"I suppose, but it might get confusing. Two very different civilizations we're talking about. Or not so different. But still…which is more interesting?"

"I'd say either one. But everybody knows about the fall of Rome. Why not talk about something a little less known." Melody's passion shone right through—something he greatly admired about her. He found himself getting side-tracked, lulled by the melodic quality of her voice. "John? Did you hear me?"

"Sorry? What?"

"What's really on your mind?"

"I just told you. My lecture." He scoffed, crossing his arms.

"No, you just made up an excuse and thought I'd buy it. Sweetie, believe it or not, I know you better than you think."

_Sweetie._ Such a simple endearment, but his heart raced every time she said it. Wait—what was the question again?

"John—"

"What?" his head shot up.

"Fine, you don't have to tell me, but just know that I'm here if you ever need to talk about it."

"About what?"

"Whatever's making you look so paranoid."

"Paranoid, I'm not paranoid!"

"I know that look when I see it."

"What look? I'm not giving you a look. This is my normal face."

"You really are, though." She insisted.

"Am not."

But much as he loathed admitting it, she couldn't have been more right. He really needed to learn not to hide his feelings.

Because no matter what, even when he thought he could fool her, even when he tried to give reasonable excuses, Melody always knew.


	3. Dizzy

**Author's Note: Let's just say I'm starting to go in a different direction this chapter. I'd love to know what you think:)**

* * *

Clara dropped him off at the university as usual, and now he fumbled his way to the lounge to get the morning cuppa Melody usually prepared for him.

He'd hardly made it to the doorway when he heard her laugh—that unmistakable, throaty chuckle that was so inherently _Melody_.

Dazed for a second, he stopped, leaning against the wall, fringe flopping into his face, silently savoring that beautiful laughter—well, until he realized where it was coming from.

"And that—Miss Williams, is why you should never trust a nurse. I should know, I've met several. Though none quite as charming and beautiful as you." The smoothness in Jack Harkness' voice was nauseating.

"Well, thank you, Captain. You do know how to flatter a girl."

_Wait, is she—is she _flirting_ with him?_

John cringed inwardly, a sagging feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"Oh, believe me, there's more where that came from."

"I bet there is."

Decidedly not keen on hearing the rest of that conversation, the man in the bowtie clutched his walking stick, quickly meandering to his office without the assistance of Melody.

The whole journey there, he tried to dismiss the unwelcome pain in his gut, the uncanny sensation that might otherwise have been mistaken for jealousy. But it wasn't really that, was it? His surprise had gotten the best of him, and he'd taken his bewilderment to mean something else.

He wasn't jealous; of course not.

* * *

"There you are!" Melody exclaimed, relief flooding her voice. "I've been looking everywhere for you. I thought maybe you were ill. But it's not like you to miss work. Are you—is something wrong, John? You never came to the lounge-"

"Oh, well, actually I did. And you were sort of…_busy_, so I didn't want to be a bother." His fingers scratched his cheek awkwardly, and he didn't care to elaborate.

"Busy? What do you mean, 'busy'?"

"Um…well, I suppose you were in a rather heated conversation." John's stomach dropped again.

"What, with who?"

"Jack Harkness!" he yelped before he could stop himself.

"Yeah, so? We were just talking, and you know…" She watched how John's shoulders slumped. "_Sweetie_, why is that a problem?"

"It's—it's not! Of course not! It's perfectly fine, Melody. Who said anything about 'problem'? his rambling was normally quite endearing to Melody, but now it worried her.

"You came in today without getting your morning tea. You're not one to break routine, John. You must have really been put off by us if you were willing to forgo that."

_I'd never be put off by you._

His heart raced, his palms sweating.

"Then why do you look so sad?" Wait—had he just spoken his last thought aloud?

"Sad? I'm not sad! You know me, happy as ever!" his smile brightened, but there was a hollowness to it, a superficiality.

"I know that face."

He swallowed, caught off guard by the sincerity of her words.

"Well, it doesn't matter because I'm going to have to get used to a different routine soon enough. Clara's just applied for a new job, and if she gets it, which she will no doubt, she'll drop me at work about 15 minutes earlier."

"Okay…I'll just get here around that time, then."

"But Melody—"

"It's no big deal. Really." Her eyes narrowed. "Now can we get back to the point?"

"The point?"

"Yes, the point, where you were about to tell me why you're jealous of Jack Harkness." Crossing her arms, Melody sat on his desk, indignant.

"Jealous? I'm not jealous!" he scoffed, hands flying.

"You're shoulders are slumped; you've probably been sulking all morning, just because you heard Jack and I flirting—Honey, that is not a normal reaction."

"S-sure it is! I was just uncomfortable, that's all!"

"Jealous." Melody surmised. "But seriously, John. There's nothing to worry about. If Jack and I become an item—which we're not, I'm just speaking hypothetically—you're still my best friend. Nothing would change, not really. That's what you're worried about, isn't it?"

_No, it's not just that. But you wouldn't—you wouldn't possibly understand._

"I suppose."

"Hey." Her hand stroked his cheek, and he felt his face grow hot. "We'll be fine, okay?"

"Okay."

* * *

"Out with it, then." Clara spat, hand on her hip.

"What?"

"Let's see. You've been lounging on the sofa since we got home, drowning yourself in that awful concoction, fish fingers and custard, and you're going to give me a blank look. Come on, John, something's bothering you. Worse than usual, too. Bad day at work? No, don't tell me. This has to do with Melody, doesn't it? Always with Melody."

John shifted uncomfortably, head turned away.

"Okay…I'll take that as confirmation, then. Lemme guess—something happened with her and Jack, didn't it?"

"They were flirt—wait, how would you know?"

"Because it's written all over your face. You're jealous. _Totally_."

"It's nothing, really. I don't even know—I shouldn't be reacting like this…I don't want to be reacting like this. Why am I reacting like this?"

"I already explained this to you the other night. Care to deny that you fancy her now? Unwarranted jealousy is a major sign."

"I'm not—I'm not jealous. It was just a bit uncomfortable for me. Like if I heard you flirting with someone, I wouldn't exactly be pleased, would I?"

"I'm you're sister, that's different. Melody's not." She sighed, defeated. "Has Jack asked her out yet?"

"I—I don't know. But she—she tried to tell me that if that happened, nothing about our friendship would change."

"But that's not what you're worried about." Clara's hand went to his shoulder. She paused a moment, silent. "John, didn't I tell you to ask her out while you have the chance? At least telling her how you feel wouldn't hurt. Why is that concept so hard for you to grasp?"

"I—it's not hard for me to grasp! I know perfectly well how to—I mean, I told you, it would never happen."

"Yes, you're absolutely right. If you keep saying that, it most certainly isn't going to happen. Lucky for you, there's a perfect opportunity coming up. That staff party they're doing next week. You can ask her to that. Don't even have to make it a date if you don't want to. See, not so hard, is it?"

Groaning, John sank deep into the cushions, scratching his head, his hair a tussled mess.

"I think I'm going to make some_ tea_."

* * *

The next morning, John set about his daily routine, engrossing himself in the subject matter even more than usual, desperately trying to ignore the unpleasant feelings coiling deep down in his heart.

At lunch, he sat alone in his office, drenching his fish finger in the creamy custard, but lacking the resolve to bring it to his mouth. His thoughts wandered, and he wondered why Melody hadn't yet returned from the copy room. Maybe the copiers had developed a fault; with the equipment in this school, that tended to happen, so he wouldn't be surprised. Or perhaps Melody had gotten distracted; John himself got distracted easily, so he wouldn't blame her. Yet somewhere in the back of his mind he knew it was more than likely another scenario, much like the one yesterday morning. Melody must've finally realized that a blind professor wasn't much for company—

"Sorry, Sweetie. I accidently forgot my lunch at home, and I didn't realize until just now, so I had to grab something at the faculty lounge and—" John's look of momentary shock crumbled, and he resumed the cheery, madcap professor façade in a matter of seconds. "Hey. John—did you- did you really think I'd just leave you to have lunch by yourself? What kind of friend do you take me for?" She shuffled through her bag, taking the seat next to him.

"I…I just figured that maybe…maybe you'd decided to…you know…eat with…some of your other friends. Or something." His face fell. "Not that—not that that would be a bad thing. You're perfectly welcome to eat with whoever you want."

"But I'm _here_, aren't I?" she squeezed his hand consolingly, her fingers sending an unexpected burst of warmth through his body, all the way to his cheeks. He hoped she wouldn't notice.

"Yeah." John nodded.

"And…I bought your favorite-Jammie Dodgers…along with some English Breakfast Tea for later." When he didn't give her the usual giddy response, Melody frowned, concerned. "John—"

"Thank you." His soft smile reassured her. "You know—if you forgot your lunch, you could've just told me. I'd have been happy to give you mine."

"As much as I'd appreciate the gesture, Sweetie, I'm not really one for that ridiculous concoction you deem consumable food."

"Oi! Don't insult my taste in food! Fish fingers and custard is delicious!"

"It's disgusting!"

"_Delicious_."

"_Disgusting_."

They bickered back and forth; John's face growing redder by the minute.

"_De-LI-cious!_ And how can you say anything else? You've never even tried it, Melody."

"And I never will." She declared stubbornly.

"Oh, I'll _make_ you. One day. I promise."

"I'd like to see you try."

Her flirty remark beckoned a challenge, an opportunity.

"Just you wait, Melody Williams. One day you'll understand the delicious goodness of fish fingers and custard."

"If you insist, Sweetie." She giggled, rolling her eyes with fond exasperation.

"You just rolled your eyes at me, didn't you?"

Soft laughter.

"_Melody Williams!"_

"Stop calling me that! You sound like my mother!" her voice grew stern, but John couldn't keep a straight face.

"A feisty Scottish woman? Is that a step up from 'daft man'?" he scooted up to her, nudging her side.

"Oh, no, that's _way_ worse."

* * *

John thought he'd felt a little better after lunch, but when he found himself anxiously tapping his fingers on the desk, repeating potential conversation starters in his mind, he knew he'd flung himself deeper into a hole he'd never get out of at this rate. But truth be told, he didn't particularly want to.

_'So, Melody, I was wondering—I mean, I've been thinking about you—_this_, I mean, for a while, and I'm starting-'…no, that's rubbish. 'Melody, there's a staff party next week, and I was thinking that maybe if you didn't have any other plans we could…you know…hook up together…' NO, NO, NO. She'll never talk to me again. 'Melody, I don't feel like we do enough together as friends. Maybe you'd like to go to the staff party with me?' No, she'll see through that instantly. Ugh…I don't know what to say. She'll probably just laugh at me anyway…why did Clara have to bring this up in the first place? It would never work._

But then he remembered their playful bickering from earlier, the sound of Melody's giggle, the soft touch of her hand.

"So…_Melody_…" Clearing his throat, John coughed awkwardly, begging her attention. "I—I have a question for you."

A beat of silence.

"Yes, Sweetie?" her voice was husky, rougher than usual. And not in a good way. Something was wrong, very wrong. And he, being the thick idiot he was, didn't notice until now.

_Hmm. Let's see…strained voice, shaky breathing, fatigue…_

"Wh-what's wrong?"

"Nothing. Just have a bit of a headache, that's all." She sounded pained, exhausted.

"Do you—do you want a cuppa, or something? I could—"

"No, Sweetie, it's fine. I've gotten these loads of times over the years. I can manage. Besides, there's a lot of work left to be done—"

"Melody, if you're feeling ill, you should—"

"I'm _fine_. Seriously. Forget I mentioned it." Her quickness to dismiss his concerns unnerved John. How often did she hide how she really felt?

"Melody—"

"Now what was it you wanted to ask me?" Melody gently whispered, still patient despite her apparent condition, bless her.

_Doesn't matter. Not now._

"Oh, _what_? I dunno. I suppose I've forgotten."

* * *

Before she could protest, John placed the smoldering cup of tea in front of her.

"Here you go, Miss Williams. Camomile, your favorite."

"John, I told you—"

"Enough about what you told me. You're feeling awful, and you could really use a cuppa, so I made you one."

"White. No sugar—"

"Yes, yes, I know. And no, I didn't mess it up. I know I'm blind, but I've made tea enough times to know how—"

"It's lovely, Sweetie. Thanks." He heard her hum as she sipped the steaming liquid and suddenly battled the urge to run his fingers through those soft, silky curls—wait, where did that come from? "But this was just an excuse to touch my hair, wasn't it?"

Hang on—did he just—oh, no—

"I didn't—I mean, I was just trying to—"

But she cut him off, kissing him softly on the cheek as she'd done once before. Only this time, John reckoned his heart was about to jump out of his chest.

_Thump-thumpthump-thump-thump-thump._

"You're very sweet, John. Always so kind to me. _Thank you."_

* * *

"Oh, hello, John. Didn't expect to see you here. And this must be your sis-" Amelia stepped onto the doormat, eying the two brunettes curiously—until she saw her daughter.

John's arm looped around Melody's waist protectively as she leant on him for support.

"Omigosh—_Melody!" _the ginger woman yelped, turning back to the house. "_Ro-ry!"_

"I'm…I'm all right, mother, just a bit…dizzy… I swear, I'm fine…"

John held her hand tightly, pressing a lingering kiss to her head.

"You're going to be. Now that you're home. I promise."

* * *

"How are you feeling?" her father's calm tone lulled her out of her sleepy state.

"Dad? Wh-what happened? Where's John?"

"You blacked out, Melody. Again. You're lucky John was there this time." A warm washcloth rested on her brow.

"Wha—John?"

"He and his sister dropped you off. He said he might come by later if you're feeling better. How does that sound?"

"Okay." She rubbed her eyes.

"You're lucky to have a friend like him." Rory stroked her cheek. "He really cares about you."

"I know."

"_Melody?"_ Another voice cut in, raw and emotional.

"It's okay, mum. You know…you know…why this happens. I-I'm sorry for scaring you."

"Hey, you have nothing to be sorry for. None of this is your fault." Amelia hugged her daughter close, tears falling into those beautiful curls. "I'm just glad you're alright."


	4. Confession

**Author's Note: Things get pretty interesting in this chapter (you'll see what I mean).**

* * *

After knocking on the door, John stood beside his sister, anxious.

"John, you need to calm down. She's gonna be fine. Rory called and told us she'd woken up, remember? Stop worrying." Clara's attempts to console him met little success.

"She blacked out, Clara! That can't be good! What if—what if she's—"

Before he could finish his frantic babbling, the door slid open, and Amelia Williams' heavy breathing caught his attention.

"Oh, good. You're here. She's sleeping right now, but she'll be happy to see you when she gets up. So in you come. And your sister too. Clara, right?"

Clara nodded slowly, linking her arm through John's as they entered the Williams' home.

* * *

"What's wrong with her?" John sat with Clara, Amelia and Rory in the kitchen.

"She blacked out." Rory explained calmly.

"Well, I know that. But _why_? Melody said she's been getting these headaches for years, so this isn't the first time, is it?" Frustration filled his voice.

"It's…well, it's hard to explain. We don't know exactly. But she's been getting these headaches and blackouts for over ten years…on and off. Nothing severe. And they've gotten less and less frequent. I don't think she's had one in a few years." Amelia's explanation seemed truthful yet incomplete, lacking some important detail.

"Hang on. What happened ten years ago?" the question hung amid the still air.

"If ya don't mind him asking." Clara cut in, hoping her brother didn't sound too insensitive.

"Melody went through a tough time. With Rory having recently returned home from Iraq blind and all. It was a hard adjustment for all of us…" the older woman trailed off, as if ready to elaborate, but decidedly against it.

"Of course. Right. Sorry. Probably shouldn't have asked. Touchy subject. Not really my place."

"No, it's alright. We know that you really care about our daughter…and-"

"_Dad_, are you talking about me?"

His daughter's hoarse voice ushered Rory out of the conversation.

"Sorry, love. We were trying to stay quiet. How are you feeling, Melody?" Rory wondered, moving closer to where Melody lay in the living room.

"I'm fine. Just a bit of a headache left. Not nearly as bad as earlier. Is…is John here yet?" her last plea rippled to John's heart, and he hesitated, waiting for her parents' cue. Amelia's soft 'go ahead' was all he needed.

With Clara's help, he quickly found his way to the sofa, crouching down beside his friend.

"Hey." He whispered, reaching for her hand. "I'm here."

"Thank you. For-for helping me when I was too stubborn to help myself." Her warm hand pressed against his cheek, sending shivers down his spine.

"You're very welcome." John couldn't think of anything else to say. "I couldn't expect anything less, really. Brave and strong-willed as you are. And I—I mean that in the best way possible."

Melody chuckled, a deep throaty sound that turned John's ears bright red.

"You certainly sound a lot better, if that's anything to go on." He rubbed his thumb against her palm, tracing light circles on her skin.

Her sharp intake of breath sent an unexpected pang of sadness to his heart.

"_Melody_. Please… don't do that to me again. If you ever feel the slightest bit ill, just tell me. Don't wait till you've nearly collapsed and send me into a panic attack and near early death." He tried to laugh, but somehow it sounded hollow, forced.

And Melody's silence afterwards was too long, _far_ too long.

* * *

"So…" John coughed, suddenly nervous again. "You must…you must be tired; sorry, probably should be leaving now, I suppose. Just wanted to check up on you…glad you're okay and all…You're probably bored of my rambling and by now I bet I sound so dull I've put you to sleep…I really need to learn when to stop talking."

"Yeah, you really do." Clara quipped, as her brother stumbled over his words.

"Yes, right, sorry, I—"

"Actually, I was wondering if you two would like to stay for dinner? I'm starting to feel quite hungry, so I was just thinking…well, If—if that's alright with you, Mum?" Melody asked, much to John's surprise. And embarrassment.

"Yeah, sure. The more the merrier I always say!" Amelia winked at them, looking perhaps too pleased for Melody's liking.

"You do _not_ always say that, Mummy." Anthony poked his head in to the living room, back from some (convenient) time at his friend's house.

"Oi, Mr. Don't get smart with your ol' Mum."

"Trust me, Son. She's right about that." Rory kissed his wife fondly, eliciting a horrified squeak from Anthony.

"EWWWWWW! That's dis_gust_ing! I'm gonna go see Melody, and get away from you guys!"

Melody smiled genuinely for the first time that evening, briefly squeezing John's hand before her little brother nearly tackled them both.

"Melody. You're okay." His face sank into her hair.

" 'Course she's okay, Anthony; she's stronger than Wonder Woman, remember?" John reminded him, smirking at Melody, who blushed.

"Oh yeah. Hi again, Mr. John. Thanks for helping my big sister."

"No problem, man. But Clara helped too." He nodded to the brunette sitting behind him.

"Hello!" Clara waved enthusiastically, her brown locks bobbing up and down.

But Anthony stared openly, mouth agape, suddenly quieter than he'd been in the past day.

"Anthony, honey, Clara here's our guest, it'd be rude not to say hello." Melody's harshness beckoned the boy out of his momentary trance.

"Uh…hello." He mumbled. "Melody… is Clara… an angel?"

"Why would you think that, Anthony?"

"Because she's _so_ pretty." Anthony's admission got him a fond look from Clara.

"Why thank you, Anthony." She giggled.

"But it's true. Don't you think so, Mr. John? Isn't Clara pretty?"

"I—uh, well. Haven't exactly been able to look at her in a while. I suppose she is maybe a bit. But she's my sister, Anthony, so I can't say anything too nice about her, can I?"

"Why not? I say nice things about Melody. I think _she's_ very pretty too. But yeah, she is my sister. So it's not really the same. You think my sister's pretty though, Mr. John. I know you do."

"Wh-why do you say that?" he stuttered.

"Because you're always so nice to her like Daddy is to Mummy, and you look so happy to see her. And then your cheeks go all red when you hold hands—just like Daddy's do when Mummy kisses him, but ewwww, kissing's gross, have you kissed Melody, Mr. John?"

"Um, well, I…" John released Melody's hand, trudging his fingers through his hair, feeling much like a blushing schoolboy forced into confronting his crush. Behind him, Clara laughed softly; he would deal with her later.

"_Anthony_." Melody started. "John and I are just friends, I _told_ you. Now don't-"

"But Melody, your cheeks are red too-"

"_Okay,_ little Mr., that's quite enough. Lucky for you, it's time for dinner. Come on; give your sister and her friends some space, eh?" Amelia's smirk was big enough to burn a hole through the wall. Clara seemed to be looking much the same way, which didn't comfort Melody at all.

"Smart kid. Cute." Yep, Clara's grin could trump Amelia's, if that was even possible.

"Sorry about that. Both of you. He's young. Doesn't know what he's talking about most of the time." Melody shrugged apologetically.

"If you insi—"

"Stop smirking." John cut his sister off before she could even finish.

"How did you even—" Clara started.

"I have my methods…"

* * *

Dinner included the usual small talk, along with some entertaining moments here and there. Namely John nearly knocking over his own plate out of clumsiness, which was only narrowly avoided by Melody's gentle, guiding hand. They all had a proper laugh about it—especially Amelia, unbelievably Scottish as she was.

"You know, one time, when we were kids, John almost tripped over his own rubber ducky in the bathtub? Seriously, and of course this was before—"

"Clara, this is not appropriate dinner conversation!" John fumed at her, cheeks hot with embarrassment.

Across the table, he could hear Amelia laughing hysterically.

"Amelia—" Rory interjected, defending his guest.

"What, so that really happened, Sweetie?" Melody urged playfully, sweeping his fringe out of his face.

"No, no, it didn't—it didn't happen like that!"

"Well, regardless, it's a bit adorable. Adorably pitiful to be honest, but still endearingly adorable and _so _you." The warmth and fondness of her tone sent his heart racing.

"Well…yeah." He straightened his bowtie, suddenly proud. Until he realized the full effect of her words. "Wait a second—"

* * *

"Dinner was lovely, Mr. and Mrs. Williams. Really. Thanks for letting me tag along." Clara waved, removing her coat from the hanger.

"No problem, Clara. You and John are always welcome here." Amelia smiled. "I'm glad Melody has friends like you." She whispered quietly, eyes tinged with tears.

"Well, John wouldn't be here if it wasn't for her." Clara's voice wavered for a second. "Speaking of which, where _are _John and Melody?" She gave Amelia a wry look.

"Last I saw, they were in the living room chatting with Anthony. And looking very _comfortable _together…" Amelia added, her face erupting into a knowing grin.

"Well, I'll see if I can get the two lovebirds to come out of their nest."

* * *

When she reached the living room, Clara stopped, quietly analyzing the scene in front of her.

Her brother sat on the floor, legs crossed, listening to the animated Anthony. Beside him, Melody leant back, using her arm for balance, her left hand only centimeters away from John's. Every now and then she would drum her fingers like an expert pianist, subtly moving closer and closer to her companion's.

Clara's gaze settled on John again, the bright glow of joy on his face warming her heart.

She hated to interrupt the picturesque moment, but the day had worn her out, and she feared that if she waited too much longer she might be too tired to drive.

"John," she tapped him on the shoulder softly. His head shot up immediately towards her. "Time to go. Here's your jacket."

"But I don't want you to go!" Anthony complained.

"Hey, I'll come back some other time, buddy. That is, if your sister invites me—"

"Course he'll be back. Now, you Little Mister are ready for bed. Mummy will tuck you in while I say goodnight to John and Clara, okay?"

"But Melody—"

"Oi, don't talk to your sister like that. When it's bedtime, it's bedtime, no buts about it." Amelia jutted in, and Clara realized she'd been leant against the doorframe the entire time, sly old Scottish woman she was.

"_Sorry_ Mummy."

* * *

"Are you absolutely sure you're going to be alright?" he whispered into Melody's curls as they embraced.

"I'm fine, Sweetie. And besides, I'm doing the lecture on Monday, remember? Have to be ready for that."

"But really—if you're not up to it—"

"I am. Or I will be. So stop worrying." Her fingertips fluttered atop his cheek. "Thanks for coming. It was a lot of fun."

Just when Clara thought she'd been completely invisible to the other two people in the hallway, Melody detached herself from John and pulled Clara into a loose hug, catching her off guard.

"Thank you too, Clara. You're the one who got me here safely. And you've had more than your share of dealing with this idiot."

"Hey, I am not an idiot!"

"You're the most sentimental idiot I know, and I think it's adorable." Melody reassured her friend, clapping him on the shoulder.

He blushed, fidgeting with his bowtie.

"See you on Monday, then."

"Yeah. Goodnight, Sweetie."

* * *

Hours later, Melody snuggled under her covers, absorbed in an old, well-worn book.

Her hand smoothed the weathered page, as she read the tiny sticky-note, which now rested between the pages.

_'Wow, that's cool; I'll have to show this to Dad.'_

She'd seen John's boyish handwriting strewn throughout the book, clearly it had been something he'd loved and treasured. But reading the words he'd written as a child on this particular page wrenched her heart. While John seldom discussed the death of his father, Melody knew the loss hurt him deeply.

Sometimes she would catch him staring vacantly into space, the saddest look on his face, and she would wonder if he was thinking about his dad. Now, getting an insight into his childhood thoughts and musings, she felt the burden of that loss more than ever before, and it hurt her too.

"Melody?" her mother's (surprisingly) soft voice ushered her out of her thoughts. "Do you mind if I come in?"

"Not at all." Placing her birthday gift on the bedside table, Melody relaxed, hugging her knees to her chest so her mother had a place to sit.

Even though they lived in the same house, it wasn't often that her mother knocked on her door. The basement was Melody's space; she paid her part of the rent for it, and it was the closest she had to her own flat.

"Wow, you're obviously working hard on something," Amelia nodded at the piles of notes splattered across her daughter's desk.

"Yes, well, I need to be ready for my lecture on Monday."

"Were you sleeping?" Amelia Williams asked, perched on the edge of Melody's bed. "If you were—I'm sorr—"

"No, just reading. It's fine, mother. I don't mind."

"That book? What does it say, 'Facts From History: The Bizarre and Unbelievable—What the Textbooks Never Tell You'? Sounds interesting. A bit old."

"John gave it to me for my birthday. His dad had given it to him when he was really young."

"Really sweet of him." Amelia smirked.

"Mother, it's not like that." She turned her face away, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks.

"Then why are you blushing?"

"Because you're putting me on the spot, Mum."

"Oh, and what about that hand-holding earlier? And that extra- long hug, eh?"

"He was happy to see me, that's all; he'd been worried, I'm his best friend, after all. And weren't you supposed to be putting Anthony to bed?" Melody shot her an accusatory look.

"I happen to have good eyes."

"_Mum_."

"Okay, fine, I snuck a peek while your brother was brushing his teeth."

"_Mother_."

"Sorry. I just—Melody, if he hadn't been there, who knows—"

"But he _was_, and I'm fine, I promise."

"You could've called."

"I didn't think I would blackout. I thought—I hoped maybe this time it was just a regular headache. It's been over ten years now since—since…"

"I know." Amelia's jaw tightened as she took her daughter's hand. "Have you—have you told John?"

"No." Melody's eyes shimmered with unshed tears. "I can't." She managed, voice shaking. "He might never speak to me again if he knew…and anyway, I've been working a long time to get past all that."

"Melody, none of it was your fault. Do you hear me, _none of it_! You don't even remember most of it, for goodness sake. John would understand, Melody, I'm sure of it. He cares about you enough that he would. And don't you dare tell me otherwise because I _know_ it, Melody. His face lights up the moment you walk in the room; he brought you here today because he was afraid for you. He held your hand when you woke up. He clearly _adores_ you, Melody."

"Then you know why I can't lose him."

* * *

Melody closed her eyes, leaning on the desk.

"You've been awfully quiet today. Sure you're not feeling ill because if you are—"

"For the hundredth time, Sweetie, I am over that." She huffed, sounding harsher than intended. "Sorry. I didn't mean—"

"Then what's bothering you?" he spoke quietly, brushing his fingers over hers.

Her mind raced and she thought back to her mother's words.

_'He clearly _adores_ you, Melody.'_

Part of her wanted to tell him the truth, to tell him as he reached for her hand that terrible secret buried deep within her heart, the scar from her past that she tried ever so hard to forget, the wound that kept stinging, even after all this time.

So instead she told him a half-truth, an excuse, really.

"Just a bit nervous, that's all."

"About your lecture? Melody Williams, you are the most brilliant, _capable_ woman I know, and you are going to be _amazing_."

* * *

John was right, of course.

And more than once during her lecture on the first archaeologists he found himself completely taken aback. The confidence she spoke with, the ease. The way the words rolled off her tongue so beautifully, so passionately, so purposefully.

Melody was born teach, and he told her so.

"I should have you lecture more often. You were _brilliant_ today, Melody. Absolutely _amazing_."

"Well, I'm glad someone thought so." She shrugged. "I don't know, I just…I stumbled over my words quite a bit. I'm sure everyone thought I looked ridiculous, flailing my hands about and talking about archaeology."

"You looked beautiful." He admitted softly before he could stop himself.

"Sweetie, no offense—"

"Meaning the opposite."

"-But you can't…you can't even see me."

Her words stung, like a punch in the gut.

"John, I didn't mean—"

"Melody, I can't—I can't see you with my eyes, no…but I can still see you. Your enthusiasm and your passion and your confidence. It's beautiful."

Melody's breath caught and in that moment she was suddenly very glad he couldn't see the tears in her eyes. She bit her lip, unsure what to say.

"So…" She tried to change the subject with the first thing that came to mind. "…that staff party Friday night…"

"Yeah, that. Well, it sounds rather fun, with dancing and food and—"

"You going?"

Her question evidently unnerved John, going by his stuttering.

"I—well, I d-don't know."

"Why not? It'll be fun, like you said, and why the nervous face?"

"Going by myself would be a little awkward for this occasion."

It took her a second to understand his meaning. Oh.

"You don't think you'll be able to get a date?"

Gulping, John scratched his cheek.

"_Sweetie_, now who's being ridiculous?"

"I—"

"There's plenty of options. If only you'd just bump up your confidence. Take Martha, for instance. Medical Studies professor, clearly fancies you."

"WHAT? Since when—I didn't—I talk to her sometimes but I don't really _know_ her."

"Well, now's your chance. Just ask her—"

"Melody, I don't want to go out with Martha—"he spluttered, hands flapping.

"Really? She seems pretty nice. Hmmm…who else then? Rose?"

"No! And she's taken anyway. Goes out with that other John."

"Right, that spikey-haired, skinny—"

"Yes, I think that's him."

"Who else then? Wait, who do _you_ want to go with, John?"

"I don't—no one. Doesn't matter. I'll just stay home with Idris. Better that way."

"Surely there's someone. It's not something to be nervous about John. Just tell me, and I can help you—"

"Only if you tell me who _you're_ going with." he crossed his arms over his chest, indignant.

"Well, Jack asked me. So I was thinking that maybe I'd go with him. There. Now who—"

"It's not important."

"'Course it is. Out with it."

"No."

"You promised—"

"Why do you care anyway?" he shouted, angry.

"John? Why—why is that even a question? You're my best friend, of course I care! I want you to be happy. Are you afraid that I'm going to judge you if you tell me, is that it?"

Taking a deep breath, John sighed.

"No, that's not why."

"You don't trust me?" she whispered, confused and hurt.

_Can you really not see, Melody?_

"Of_ course_ I trust you." His voice came out raw, broken.

"Then why—"

"Because you wouldn't understand." He lowered his head.

"Try me."

"She doesn't want to go out with me."

"How can you be so sure? Have you asked her?"

"I—I almost did. But I can't."

"And why not?"

His heart stopped just then, and John, knowing she'd only keep asking, cradled her hand in his, and leant in, his hot breath against her ear so she wouldn't have to see his face.

"Because you're already going with someone else."

* * *

**Note:Yeah...you'll probably hate me for that ending. Sorry:-P**

**You might be wondering how Melody could possibly be so oblivious-well, think of how teenage Amy was in LKH. She had been best friends with Rory for TEN YEARS and she had NO IDEA he liked her. It's a similar thing here. Melody knows John cares about her, but she hasn't really come to terms with what that really means, nor has she come to terms with her own feelings for him. But now she has to...so we'll see what happens.**

**Hope you enjoyed the chapter:)**


	5. Realization

**Author's Note: So, this chapter is a bit of a game-changer, but maybe not quite the way you're expecting.**

* * *

Her breath hitched suddenly, her mouth gaping open as she processed his soft-spoken words; she shivered at the sensation of his closeness, speechless.

Melody's hand trembled in John's, the familiar touch now uncomfortable, and utterly terrifying, intimate even.

"What?" she managed, lips quivering.

Why—why hadn't she known?

Her knees buckled and she swayed backwards, dizzy and light-headed, the world blurring around her like a dream. Fear gripped her heart, and Melody surely would've hit the cold, hardwood desk, had it not been for John's (shockingly) quick reflexes.

In seconds he held her, his arms tight around her waist, gentle, warm.

"Melody…hey, hey, I've gotcha." He whispered, securing her as best he could.

"John—but you—"she forced herself to balance, channeling all her remaining energy.

"I'm sorry. I said you wouldn't understand. I shouldn't have—"

"No, it's my fault." She wobbled again, and he caught her instantly, prepared.

_ 'Because you're already going with someone else.'_ His confession echoed in her mind, finding its way to her rapidly beating heart.

Guilt seeped into her body as she recalled the previous conversation and her own obliviousness. Poor John.

Oh gosh, _John_.

And suddenly she knew she couldn't stay there, not like this, in his unwavering arms, she had to leave, had to think, had to just get out.

"I…I have to…have to pick up Anthony, I'm sorry, John. We'll talk later, okay."

"Melody—"

She rushed out of the office and didn't even cast another glance in John's direction, the truth still too fresh, too raw. Perhaps John would believe her excuse, it wasn't a lie; after all, she did have to pick up her brother.

An hour later she realized she'd left so quickly she hadn't even taken her purse. Plausible excuse, indeed.

* * *

"_Melody_, what's wrong? Why do you look so sad?" Anthony asked for the hundredth time as they reached the door to the house. "I don't like seeing you sad, Melody."

"I'm fine, Anthony. Now, when we get inside I want you to go straight to doing your homework, alright? Mum should be home soon."

"But Melody—"

"No, buts Anthony—" she instructed, wiggling her index finger. "Now, go do your homework or Mummy will come home and get upset."

* * *

Melody hunched over her desk, scouring the piles and piles of notes for this week's lectures.

She tried to focus on the words, to process the information, but somehow she couldn't.

Her brain fogged up, her vision blurring yet again.

"This is useless!" she grunted, her back hitting the chair hard.

After forcing herself to walk a couple steps, Melody collapsed on her bed, clutching her mobile to her chest.

_Just call him. You can't leave it like you did. It's not fair to John. He doesn't deserve this._

I_ don't deserve him._

That nagging sense of guilt crept back into her heart, and she sniffled, remembering her quickness to leave the office and unwillingness to look at John's face. So much for being a friend and actually listening to what he had to say. She'd been the one begrudging him in the first place; if she hadn't insisted on him telling her the truth, they could've avoided this whole mess.

The more she pondered it, the more she realized just how awful and immature she'd acted towards John. How could she just run off and leave like his confession didn't matter at all?

Rolling on her side, Melody groaned, the hollowness in her chest weighing her down.

She could still feel his warm breath against her ear, his gentle fingers curling around hers, his quiet sigh as he whispered the truth.

The truth.

The terrible, frightening, unbelievable, amazing truth. John, sweet John, adorable John, beautiful John, her best friend, who had never been anything but kind and understanding and compassionate, actually—

No, she couldn't finish that thought, couldn't possibly come to terms with what he'd said.

If only she would've never brought up that stupid party, if only she'd kept quiet and let John continue his usual rambling, if only everything could go back to the way it had been.

But it was too late for that.

* * *

"Melody…" Amelia opened the door slowly, cautiously, only to see her daughter curled on the bed like a frightened little girl. "What happened?" she drew the chair to the edge of the bed, taking Melody's hand. "Hey."

"I'm—I'm fine, Mum. This is so stupid, really. Gosh, I'm acting like a little kid, aren't I? How embarrassing." Melody sat up a bit, wiping her eyes with her fists.

"We all need a proper cry every once in a while, Melody. Even adults. You don't need to be—"

"You don't understand, Mum—I… I acted _horrendously _today."

"This has to do with John, am I right?"

Her daughter's face crumbled. Melody nodded, ashamed.

"How did you even—"

"Because nothing else could've upset you this much."

Sucking in a breath, Melody decided to just get it over with.

"John…fancies me." she mumbled, unwilling to look her mother in the eye.

"And the penny drops…"

"Mum! Stop it! It's not funny."

"I never said it was." Amelia sympathized, tone suddenly serious. "I may be an old grumpy Scottish woman now, but I know how these things work. And I'm pretty sure I know exactly how you're feeling right now, honey."

"You can't. You couldn't possibly."

"But I could. Because I've gone through this before myself. With your dad. We were best friends for ten years—"

"Mum, don't even start, I know the story—" she rolled her eyes, sinking back into her pillow.

"Oi, just listen will you? Your father, Rory, was my best friend. For so long. We did everything together. We hung out all the time after school, we played at each other's houses, we knew each other's families. And it was brilliant. I loved it just the way it was. I never—I never thought anything would change. But then one ordinary day, just like any other—the penny dropped for me. My best friend, sweet Rory, funny Rory, gorgeous Rory, had fancied me for years. And I made the biggest idiot of myself; I thought he was gay. He insisted that he wasn't and I was confused. When had he ever shown the slightest interest in a _girl?_ But then I saw his face, the love and fear in his eyes, and I knew. It clicked. And poor Rory, he ran away; gosh, he was so embarrassed. And I stood there in shock, feeling like the most horrible friend in the world. How had I not seen it? How could I miss something so, so important, when it had been smack dab in front of me? It was absolutely terrifying."

Melody's eyes glistened and she stayed silent for a moment.

And then Amelia heard it, that innocent, frightened voice of her precious girl.

"What—what do I do, Mum? How do I fix this?" Melody trembled, desperate.

In seconds, Amelia held her daughter in her arms, rocking her back and forth, just as she had when Melody was young.

"Well, do you want to know what I did? I went after Rory, even though I was young and confused and scared, I ran after him. So if you care about John, and I know you do, don't try to run away. Don't try to pretend everything's the way it used to be because it isn't, Melody, not anymore. Just talk to him. Be honest. I know it feels like everything's crashing down around you, but think about how John must feel right now."

"I have." She admitted, face downcast. "And I've already hurt him enough as it is. What if—what if I don't say the right thing? What if I lose my best friend? Or maybe I already have." A beat of silence. "I'm…I'm afraid, Mum."

"I know, Melody. But I think you'll soon find, as I have, that sometimes the best things in life are the scariest."

* * *

Clara sighed, watching her brother curl up next to Idris on the sofa and drown himself in a carton of custard-flavored ice cream. Melody's purse was squished between him and the arm of the couch, where he kept his mobile.

A pitiful sight if she ever saw one.

"You can't do this all day, John." She tapped her foot impatiently, hoping to get her point across.

Despite her irritation, Clara genuinely empathized with her brother, and it hurt to see him so hopeless, so depressed.

"John, please. I'm sorry if that sounded mean or bossy, I'm not trying to—what I mean to say is, I just…I just want to help you, John. So just…talk to me." she stammered, settling down beside him.

"You're the one who got me into this mess, Clara." He tried to sound cross, but the pain in his voice betrayed him.

"Hey." Her hand cupped his shoulder. "This is my fault, then?"

"No." John shrugged, sheepish. "But I shouldn't have followed your advice."

"Oh, I see." Clara bit her lip. "So you asked her out?"

"Not exactly. But sort of. I mean, she knows now that I—" he blinked rapidly, head down.

"Okay. What happened, then?"

"She…I think she almost fainted. And then, when she regained her balance, she just ran away. So quickly she left her purse behind. And I—I didn't want anyone to steal it, so I'm keeping it safe. Until—well…"

"I'm proud of you."

"Why? I've made everything more complicated than it already was. And now she'll never talk to me ever again."

"If you really believe that, then why is your mobile so close by? You're clearly waiting for her to call—"

"But—but what if she doesn't, Clara?"

"Gosh, you're so thick, John. Melody…she really cares about you. I've seen it. But sometimes when you really care about someone, you can be blinded to the truth. What you told her today was a shock, and she reacted the way most people do, out of fear and confusion. So she ran. But Melody isn't one to abandon the people she cares about."

Almost in the nick of time, the phone started ringing right then, and unsurprisingly, John answered it instantly.

"Hello…?" he practically squeaked.

_"Hey, John, it's Melody."_

His heart pounded so hard he swore she could hear it on the other end.

"Hi."

_"Um…are you busy right now?"_

"N-not really." He dropped the spoon he'd been eating with and placed the carton on the floor.

_"Well, I was…I was wondering if maybe we could…we could…um…go somewhere…to…to talk. Maybe, maybe that pizza place down the street from your house? That way it wouldn't… it wouldn't be too much of a hassle to get there. But if…if you don't want to…it's fine. And I understand."_

"No, no, that's a great idea. What time?"

_"Um…I was thinking around six maybe? Or is that too early, we could always…"_

"It's fine. Sounds good."

_"Okay. See you then?"_

"Yeah, I'll be there." the dead tone on the other line told him she'd hung up.

Absorbed in thought, he'd nearly forgotten Clara was there until she decided to interject.

"See, what did I tell you?"

"Who said that was Melody?"

"I think you just did. As if the nervous voice and the red cheeks wasn't an indication. And for future reference, when answering a call in a split second, you might not want to put it on speaker."

His brows furrowed and it took him a moment—

"Hang on, I did WHAT?"

"Yep, and you didn't even notice. I could say a lot of things about that, but I won't. Now, off you go, don't want to miss your first date."

"It—it is not a date! Just a—a friendly outing to settle things. It's definitely not a date. Melody's already made it clear that—"

"If you say so." She giggled, hand over her mouth.

_"Clara!"_

"What?"

"Stop smirking."

* * *

An hour later, John stood in the foyer dressed and ready, tails, bowtie and all.

"Oh, yeah. A suit and tails. Totally not a date at all." Clara mocked, keys jiggling in her hand. "And you know, besides the everyday tweed and bowtie, I'm not sure I've ever seen you dress up. But anyway, I'm sure you're eager to get to your little 'friendly outing.' So off we go."

Arm and arm, John and Clara trotted down the street, the noise of constant traffic swelling around them.

"And there it is!"

"Wait…wait a second." John tugged her back, stopping. "Clara…how…how do I look?"

"Like a ridiculously overdressed mor—I mean, _or_-chestra conductor. Actually, come to think of it, that is a fairly accurate description. But we're already here, so before you even ask, no, we are not going back. And besides…I'm not sure Melody will mind."

"Clara, what's that—what's that supposed to mean?" his hands flailed in front of him.

"That we need to get inside before you start a scene." Clara insisted before dragging him through the doors of Gianelli's Pizza.

"Clara, what was that about—"

"And there she is." Clara's whisper cut straight to his heart. He gulped, nervous. "Oh, John, she's even done her hair up. That's a good sign. Off you go—" she nudged him in the right direction. "See ya later, John."

* * *

Startled by the sudden sound of clacking metal, Melody looked up from her menu to see John nearly knocking over the table beside her. Thankfully, it was empty.

She caught her clumsy friend in seconds, carefully setting the table back in proper position.

"You alright, Sweetie?" her hand curled around his and she led him to the booth where she'd been sitting.

"S-sorry. I—I suppose that wasn't the best entrance."

"No, it really wasn't."

"Here's-here's your purse. Didn't want anyone to take it, so I kept it safe."

"Thank you. Very sweet, John." she took the bag from him, watching as he flushed.

Melody's breath stilled as she got a proper view of his sharp, tailored suit, black bowtie (perfectly tied), and that adorably sheepish expression.

"What's wr—Oh, it's the suit, isn't it? Sorry, I may have gone a bit over the top, Clara didn't tell me until we were right outside the restaurant, and by that time it was already too late and I couldn't change so—"

"You…you look…_great_, Sweetie." She swallowed hard, threading her fingers through his.

"I do?" He croaked. "Oh, yeah, course I do!" straightening his bowtie, John grinned.

"And now you just look inordinately smug."

"Oh, sorry, I wasn't meant to…I didn't mean…"

_"Sweetie."_

"Sorry."

"No, Sweetie, the waiter's about to take our order."

"Oh." He let go of her hand immediately.

"And what can I get for you today, signora?" the waiter asked, Italian accent thick.

"Oh, um… just a water, a medium pepperoni pizza, with a side salad."

"And for your husband, signora?"

John blushed, embarrassed.

"_Husband_—he's n—" Melody's stomach dropped, her heart beating madly.

"I'll…I'll just have a water. And share the rest with her." He stuttered, having heard the man's erroneous assumption.

"Si, si. I will be back soon." He winked at them before moving to the next table.

* * *

"So…" Melody wafted her straw through her water, pizza slice still sprawled on her plate. "I'm…I'm really sorry about earlier. John, it just took me by surprise…and I…I wasn't exactly prepared. I shouldn't have—shouldn't have run off like I did—I'm sorry." She hung her head, apologetic.

Reaching across the table, John took both her hands in his.

"I…I forgive you, Melody. And I'm sorry too. I should've kept it to myself, waited for a better time—"

"No—I'm glad you told me." She pressed her hand to his cheek, lingering there for a moment.

He closed his eyes, savoring the feel of her touch, knowing it would be short lived.

"But I don't want to… to hold you back from having fun Friday night. I hope you and Jack have a really nice time—"

"I never said I was going with Jack, John." She whispered, voice soft.

"Yes, you—what?"

"I said he asked me, and I _might _go with him. Fortunately, I've gotten a better offer."

"B-but that means—"

"I'm afraid it does." Melody smiled shyly, hesitant.

"But you and I—we…"

"Yes... I mean, if you want to, of course." Her grip on his hands tightened. "I do have a request, though."

"Anything." His thumb stroked her palm, and she shivered.

"Can we—can we take it slow? Like, do we need to put a label on it just yet? You're still my best friend and I—I don't want to lose that. I haven't…I've never…had a friend like you John…and if I lost you…I don't…I don't know what would happen."

"Well, good thing you'll never lose me, Melody Williams."

Yet even as he squeezed her hand, the familiar fear set into her heart, deep, taunting.

_But you _will_, Melody. Once he finds out who you really are. And what you've done._

* * *

**Note: Not really sure what you'll think of this chapter. But at least she's going with him, and they're together...sort of.**

**Hope you enjoyed it. And oh, look at the time, Alex Kingston's on Arrow tonight, I'm excited:)**


	6. Treasured

**Author's Note: Things get serious this chapter...**

* * *

"Wow, you're lookin' smug as ever. I take it your 'date' went well, then?" Clara smirked, hands on her hips.

"Hmmm." John hummed, his cheeks bright and flushed.

"So, you've finally found yourself a girlfriend? I have to admit, I never thought I'd see the day."

"Clara!"

"I'm kidding. Course I am. You've always been amazing, John. It just took an equally amazing woman to see it. "

"You got that right." He mused, not realizing he'd just spoken aloud.

His sister's soft laughter broke his train of thought.

"Did I just—"

"Yeah, you did. I take you two are going to that party together, right?"

"Yes. But it's—it's not like you think, Clara, we're not, I mean, Melody said we should take it slow, and —we're not exactly dating—or-or, maybe we kind of are—I don't know, it's complicated, I think." his hands gestured emphatically as if to explain.

"If you insist." Clara giggled to herself, hand over her mouth, deeply enjoying her brother's flustered reaction. She did always love to wind him up.

* * *

On the surface, life hadn't changed much in a week; He and Melody still collaborated and worked and chatted and bickered just as they always had.

But then there were the moments in between, when she would hold his hand for longer than was absolutely necessary, when he would pull her into a tight embrace, savoring the rapid thump-thump of her heart against his, the gradual ebb and flow of her breath as she relaxed after a long day.

Moment by moment, her walls crumbled a little more, allowing a deeper, almost indefinable connection that somehow extended past the barriers of simple friendship, creating a complicated, elaborate tangle of chaos.

And yet, there were other times where she felt so distant, so far; she'd release that weary lapse of breath when she thought he wasn't paying attention. Melody Williams; beautiful, energetic, imaginative, passionate, Melody Williams, sad and silent for reasons he wanted to understand but couldn't.

Perhaps he never would.

* * *

Pouring over her notes, Melody leaned forward, not missing the perturbed look on John's face. His constant fidgeting and hesitant steps toward her didn't bode well for her concentration.

"Stop giving me that look, Sweetie." She scolded before he could open his mouth.

"Wh-what look?"

"That thing you do where you look like a wounded puppy. The 'Oh-no-Melody's-been-awfully-quiet-lately-I-must-have-done-something-wrong' look."

"Well…" Shoulders slumping, John inched closer, wringing his hands.

"See. My point exactly."

"Melody—"

The concern in his voice was both endearing and troubling.

"You worry too much." she spoke simply, barely glancing in his direction.

"I just—I mean, sometimes—and today—we…" Oh, bless, he did that adorable thing where his bottom lip jutted out like a pouting little boy.

She could never resist that baby face.

"Yes, I know. I'll pick you up at 6:30? Work for you?"

"Yes. I mean, fine. Brilliant!" he answered almost too quickly, his sudden relief unmistakable.

* * *

A few hours later, while John waited for Melody to return from the copy room, he prepared for his next lecture, mind whirring with important dates and facts and stories.

His foot tapped the bottom of his desk, his fingers running through his hair.

When he heard the familiar door creak, he stopped, his perplexed frown breaking into a soft smile.

"Hey, Melody, I was just thinking—"

But the heavy footsteps gave it away; the abrupt halt in the middle of the office. The lack of that sweet-smelling perfume.

"Hiya, John." The man's American accent confirmed John's deepest fears.

"Jack. Hello…wha—what brings you here? Umm…M-Melody's not here right now…she's…"

"Actually I was hoping to talk to you."

John gulped, thinking he'd misheard.

"Uh—what? Me?"

"Yeah. Melody seems awfully happy to be going to that party with you."

"Oh, well…look, I'm sorry, Jack, if this is what you're upset about—"

"No, no, it's not that. I was wondering when you'd finally man up and ask her—"he chuckled, his light-hearted, American charm unnerving.

"You mean you're not—"

"No. Of course not. But I'm afraid that's why I'm here." His tone grew serious, all the playfulness of the previous moment gone.

"What—what do you mean?"

"John, I know you fancy her and everything—can't really blame you there—but don't be fooled." He warned.

"What are you talking about—I'm not—Melody's my best friend—she—"

"But it's more than that now, isn't it? Which makes things more dangerous for you than they've ever been. If I were you, I wouldn't get too close."

"Hang on, a few days ago you were asking her out—and now you're telling me—"

"I was trying to avoid this. For your sake. I asked her out because I wanted to find out as much as I could—to protect you. Because here's the thing, John—you can't trust her. You think you know her, but you don't. You don't understand who or what she is."

The implications of his words slowly sunk in, rippling to the very core of John's being.

"I think I know my best friend, thank you very much. And even if this were true in the slightest—which it isn't—why would you wait to tell menow?"

"I didn't think it would get to this point, honestly. If I had, I would've told you a long time ago." He paused, hesitant. "John, you can't let yourself get this involved. Friendship was one thing—but this, this-it's too risky."

"No, it's ridiculous, and I won't have—"

"I know it sounds that way, but I swear, what I'm telling you is true. Melody Williams is dangerous."

"Yes, so dangerous that she would drop out of university to help her newly blinded father, so dangerous that she would rescue a blind stranger from a busy street, risking her own life; yes, that seems very dangerous to me. Point is, I know my friend, Jack, and I'll not listen to this rubbish attempt at—"

"Fine. You think you know her, do you? Then tell me what happened ten years ago."

John froze, paralyzed, suddenly questioning the possible truthfulness to Jack's speech.

"She was going through a rough time—her dad came home from the war, blind, it was very difficult…"

"And that's all you know, is it?"

"Maybe—but, it doesn't matter…"

"Oh, but don't you get it? That's a part of her past she's kept hidden, even from you, her supposed 'best friend.' She doesn't trust you, don't you see? If you knew half of the awful things she did ten years ago—"

"M-Melody isn't like that. And why is her past your business? How do you know all this?"

"I watch people like her. People who pose a threat to the public. It's my job. And Melody Williams—she's a threat. But the worst part is—she doesn't fully realize it herself. She only vaguely remembers what happened to her—enough to feel guilty, but nothing more. Those blackouts she gets—they're a sign of repeated memory loss. She's tried to go back to a normal life, but what she doesn't understand is that once you get involved with the wrong people, you're never truly free. "

"So, you're telling me you used Melody, pretended to take an interest in her to get information? What the hell does that make you, Jack? A government spy? A conman? You're telling me my best friend is dangerous, but there's only one dangerous person around here, and it's certainly not Melody. Now, do yourself a favor and. Get. Out!" he growled, slamming his fist on the desk, the anger he buried down so deep and tried so hard to manage finally erupting.

"Fine. Fine! But if you get mixed up in this mess, don't say I didn't warn you."

Jack's voice trailed off, leaving John alone in the office, silently fuming, unable to shake the terrible feeling in the pit of his stomach.

* * *

"Sorry that took so long. I thought you could use another cuppa, so I here you go." Her fingers brushed his as she placed the cup in his hand. "Was that Jack I just saw coming out of here? What did he want?"

John's chest tightened just then, and he longed to tell her the truth, but instead he forced a grin, spewing a lie he knew would satisfy her.

"Oh, he just congratulated me for finally making a move, and wanted to make sure I knew he was perfectly alright with it, and there were no hard feelings between us."

He could feel the blood rushing through his veins, the quickness of his heart, lies, lies, lies.

"See, he's not all bad. And he's obviously not the jealous type. You didn't need to be so worried."

"Yeah." His hollow smile did little to mask the unsettling doubt creeping into his mind.

Sighing, he opened his lunch bag, removing its contents silently.

"Sweetie? You alright?" she sympathized, laying her hand over his.

"Fine." He managed, slowly extracting his hand from hers.

"I wasn't gone that long, was I?"

Silence.

"John?"

* * *

"You're awfully tense today. I'd have thought you would be happy, seeing as you're going on a date." Clara emphasized the last word, surprised to see no reaction from her brother. "There." she tilted his bowtie, fixing it in the right position. "Now, stand back a second…let's see. Oh, perfect. You look dashing, John. Melody's gonna love it."

"Must be really something if it's getting you to say nice things about me." He added in jest, his usual humor returning.

"Hey, I'm always nice to you!"

John chortled.

"Mostly. More often than not. Alright, fine. But really, you're my brother, I have to give you a hard time every once and a while. Now, you go and have a good time with Melody. And call me if there's any trouble. Okay?"

"Okay." It came out a bit weaker than he'd expected, but Clara didn't have time to comment, having heard the knock at the door.

"That'd be her. Have fun."

* * *

Stop it, stop thinking about that! It's rubbish. Everything he said. You know Melody. Even if she's made some bad choices in her past, she's changed. It's not something to worry about. She saved your life, remember? Now, stop your worrying and give Melody the respect she deserves.

"Hey." Turning the doorknob, John recognized the familiar, quiet breathing.

Clara's whistle of approval earned her a mouthed 'Shut up.'

"Ready?" Melody asked, cutting off the siblings' exchange.

"Mmm Hmm."

With that, she wove her fingers through his, ushering him out of his flat and towards her car.

"What was that all about?"

"Oh, you know, Clara being Clara." He grunted, shaking his head.

"You're lucky to have a sister like her."

"I know. And I am. But she can be a bit…I don't know…irritating at times."

"I understand. You've met my mother?"

"But Amelia's brilliant!"

"Says the man who used to be afraid of her." Melody giggled, swatting him on the shoulder.

"Hey—I—I got over that!"

"Only because Mum loves you." She squeezed his hand.

"Well, yeah. I mean—shut up!" he blushed, suddenly flustered.

"Not a chance."

* * *

"You can stop straightening your bowtie now; you look fine, John." She glanced at him from the driver's wheel.

"Fine?" he whined, pouting.

"Adorkable."

"Yes, well, than—wait, that's not even a word! I am not a dork, Melody Williams!"

"I mean that in the best way possible." Parking the car, Melody laughed. "I'm kidding. You look lovely."

"Is that a step up from 'adorkable'?" his arms flapped about, and she pressed her cheek to his side.

"Yes, you. Now get out of the car or we'll both look like idiots."

* * *

Hand in hand, they entered the expansive hall filled with blaring music and excited voices.

Hearing a few snickers, John tightened his grip on Melody's hand, suddenly anxious.

"Melody, why are they all staring at us?" he whispered, trying to be subtle.

"Who said they were staring at us?"

"I—I don't know, it just feels like—"

"They're just surprised, I suppose. Nothing serious." She shrugged the matter off. "Why don't we sit here?"

"Alright." Settling in the seat, John relaxed.

"Now, I'll be back in a moment, let me get the food." Her hand slipped out of his, and he leant back, still battling the unwelcome thoughts from earlier, fighting the unfathomable notion that Jack's warning might hold a grain of truth.

* * *

Sure enough, Melody arrived with the perfect plate. Fish fingers, a BLT sandwich, a side of custard, and a little pile of Jammie Dodgers from the dessert table.

"Just what the Doctor ordered." He lauded, beaming at her.

"Yes, a disgusting concoction a sane human being would never dare consume."

"What, so I'm insane, now?"

"Oh, there's never been any doubt of that, Sweetie. Anyone willing to put up with me for this long must be a bit mad, yeah?" her forced laughter pierced his heart, ushering a wave of dread.

Melody's remark cut deep; he sensed the unspoken hurt there, the pain. The inability to accept the idea that someone besides her own family might care about her.

'She doesn't trust you, don't you see? If you knew half of the awful things she did ten years ago—'

Jack's awful words came rushing back, like a tumultuous whirlwind, powerful, damaging.

"Melody—" his thumb traced circles on her palm, as he tried to communicate what he couldn't say. "You are important, do you hear me? You've never been someone I just 'put up with.' I enjoy every moment—every moment I spend with you. Surely you know that?" he admitted softly, hearing her sharp intake of breath.

"John…" she swallowed, pausing. "Why don't—why don't we finish up and then go for a dance. That is—if you promise you won't trip over your own feet again." Her joking comment lightened his heart a little.

"Don't you worry, Miss Williams, I think you'll find that despite my inherent clumsiness, I am an excellent dancer."

* * *

Closing his eyes, John Smith savored the closeness of the moment, the wonderful sensation of Melody Williams in his arms.

His hand nestled in the small of her back, pressed against her warm, bare skin, where the fabric of her dress cut off, his other hand fingering the silky bow at her waist, while she wrapped her arms around his neck, breath hot against his ear.

"That's a gorgeous dress." He mumbled as their bodies moved in tune with the music, creating a glorious melody, heart-beat upon heart-beat.

"Thanks." He felt her smile into his shoulder, her cheeks warm.

"You like this song, don't you? Stevie Wonder."

"He's an old favorite of mine."

"Me too." John agreed, relishing the comfortable silence that followed.

Part of him wished they could just stay like this, in this calm, dreamlike state, simply enjoying each other's very presence, her fingers caressing the little hairs at the base of his neck, her loose curls tickling his face. Yes, he relished this sweet bit of heaven, perfectly content, satisfied, if only for a few blissful minutes.

"John." She murmured later, her voice gentle.

"What?"

"The music stopped five minutes ago."

It took him a moment to break out of the trance, to understand, but when he did, his heart lurched, and he detached himself, staggering back, his balance lost before he could fully comprehend what was happening.

Crashing into the empty table, John felt the sharp jolt in his side as he knocked a chair over, his head hitting tabletop.

"Owwwww…" His head spun, whirring.

"John!" Melody caught him, her arms around his upper body. A commotion stirred around them, the collateral mummer of confusion.

"He's blind."

"Is he hurt?"

"Isn't he that blind professor?"

They tormented his mind, blaring, loud, hurtful, but her voice, the only one that mattered, stood out among them all.

"John, can you hear me? Sweetie—"

"M-Melody…"

"Will you all stop gawking and get me some ice?" Melody yelled, authoritative and angry. "You're going to be just fine, Sweetie." She soothed. "They're bringing you some ice, and then we'll be at my parents' house in no time."

* * *

"How are you feeling, John?" Rory Williams asked, leaning towards him.

"I—I don't know. My head hurts. I feel pretty dizzy."

"I don't think he has a concussion, but he hit his head pretty hard." He stepped back, informing Melody and Amelia. "Just keep the ice on it, John. How's your ankle?"

"Sprained. I don't need a nurse to tell me that."

"Okay, now just relax; you'll be fine. Melody, look after him. Clara should be here soon. You called her, right?"

"Of course. Come here, John." Steadying him with her arm, Melody led him to the sofa. "Hey." She smoothed his fringe out of his eyes, clasping his hand. "How do you feel?"

"Like the biggest idiot in the history of ever." He groaned, flustered. "Melody, I ruined your time at the party, I—"

"Enough about me."

"But Melody—"

"It doesn't matter."

"Of course it matters."

"What matters is that you're alright."

"You must think I'm the stupidest man on the planet."

"No; the clumsiest, maybe. But you can't help that, Sweetie."

"It's because I'm blind, isn't it?" he realized, laughing sardonically.

"Don't you dare—"

"But it's true. Everybody else—"

"Forget everybody else, John. If they don't have the decency to see you for who you really are, then what can you do? I don't ever want you to beat yourself up over something you have no control over." She choked, her voice thick with emotion.

"Hey." He whispered, wrapping his arms around her as she cried softly. "Melody…" John's hands swept her cheeks, wiping away her tears. "Thank you." His voice waivered and he withdrew from the embrace, still holding her hand. "I suppose I'm a pretty rubbish date. I can see why you're hesitant about me."

"Shut up. You're wonderful." Her nose brushed his, and she tilted her head, kissing his cheek slowly, lingering there for a moment.

"John?" Clara questioned, frantic and breathing heavily. "John, I came as soon as I heard—"

"I'm fine, Clara." He promised, letting her pull him into hug. "Seriously, I'm alright."

"What happened?"

"I—ah—well, Melody and I were dancing, and um…she told me the music had stopped five minutes ago and I tripped and crashed into a table."

"Of course you did." She sighed, rolling her eyes.

"See? Fine."

"Okay." Clara calmed down, perking up. "Must've been some pretty intense dancing."

"Oi! One minute into the conversation and you're already making cracks at me."

"Well, it was pretty intense, Sweetie." Melody leant against him, grinning.

"That's not helping."

"But it's true."

"Yeah."

And in that moment, with his best friend tucked into his side, her hand woven through his, he felt at home, content, loved, treasured, suddenly surer than ever that nothing Melody Williams had done in her past would ever change that.

* * *

**Note:**Hope you enjoyed the chapter! I tried to end on a happier note, despite the darker undertones earlier on.

Happy Valentine's Day!


	7. Music

**Author's Note: Well, this may be the longest chapter I've written so far...don't know how that happened. Sorry it's been a little longer this time. I had a choir conference last weekend and I spent the previous week preparing for that. Enjoy the chapter!**

* * *

Monday morning brought a typhoon of questions as John's coworkers (some of whom he'd never even spoken to) suddenly took a very peculiar "interest" in his well-being. More like an interest in the juicy gossip that followed it.

_"Look, there he is. Back already?"_

_"Feeling better, John?"_

_"Was that dance a little too much for him?"_

Their voices whirred in his ears, pitying, threatening; he zipped his eyes shut, wishing they would stop.

A comforting hand wrapped around his shoulders as Melody Williams guided him out of the busy hallway and into the familiar and quiet confines of the office, ignoring the elevated chatter sparked by her intervention.

"Made you some tea, Sweetie. Your favorite." Her voice brightened, and he managed a small smile, folding his fingers around the cup.

"Thank you." John sipped the steaming liquid, his head down.

"John…"

"What?" he snapped, pent up anger and embarrassment suddenly erupting like a maelstrom.

Her breath hitched sharply, and she flinched, startled.

"Sorry. Melody, I'm—I didn't mean—"hands shaking, John mumbled an apology, guilt seeping into his heart.

He could hear Melody's heavy sigh as she stepped closer to him.

"Wh-whatever they were saying about you…just don't listen to it. Please. Don't think that—" the words caught in the back of her throat, and she stopped, unable to continue.

"I've gotten used to what people say by now." John admitted quietly.

"But that doesn't make it any easier." Her voice filled with emotion as her hand cupped his cheek.

"No. You're right. It doesn't." A pause. "But d'ya know what does?" He whispered, his hand meeting hers.

"What?"

"You."

* * *

After his morning lectures, John stumbled into the office, Melody following silently. Her soft breathing and familiar footsteps trailed behind him.

"Melody?"

The lack of response put him slightly on edge.

"You okay?"

Snapping out of whatever fantasy she'd been absorbed in, she answered.

"Yes, yes, of course. Sorry."

"Umm…I was going to ask…what you thought of my last lecture, if I covered everything the way we planned."

John's question permeated the air, ushering a hushed stillness.

"I take it I didn't do so well?"

"No, no, Sweetie. You were a_maz_ing—" Melody started, slightly flustered. "I mean…"

"Really?"

"Yeah." Her voice softened, and she swallowed hard.

"Well…you know what would be even more amazing?"

"What? If you suddenly came to your senses and stopped trying to find an excuse to wear a fez during the lecture? Just because you were lecturing on 17th century Morocco doesn't give you a decent excuse to wear that hideous…_thing_. If I had a gun I'd shoot it off your head in a heartbeat."

"Oi! That is not what I meant! And for the record, fezzes are coo—"

"Hideous—"

"Cool!" he insisted, arms crossing his chest, his bottom lip jutting out like a child's.

"Sure, Sweetie. And you totally don't look like a four-year-old right now."

_"Melody!"_

"You were saying?" her tone held a hint of playfulness.

"I…well…before I was so _rudely_ insulted…I was going to suggest that you join me this afternoon. What I mean to say… is that we could lecture _together_…"

"But John, I'm not prepared, you didn't give me any notice; I can't just—"

"Course you can! You're probably more prepared than I am, and besides, you'll be wonderful. As always." The warmth in John's smile slowly melted her resistance, his youthful exuberance impossible to refuse.

"Alright. But on one condition."

He gulped, mind spinning with possibilities.

"You promise to never wear that hideous contraption ever again…"

"_Melody_, that's not fair!"

"Look, Sweetie, it's for your own good. The fact that the students can take you seriously at all is a miracle, but we know that it would never happen if you wore that abominable thing all the time. It's me or the fez. Shouldn't be a difficult decision, though apparently for you, it is."

Groaning, the man in the bowtie grudgingly submitted with the grace of a stubborn puppy.

_"Fine."_

* * *

With Melody Williams at his side, speaking with mirth and passion for the subject, her shoulder brushing his every now and then, her soft giggle gracing his ears when he'd crack a joke just for her, John Smith found that sacrificing the fez couldn't have been a better decision (though he'd never admit it to Melody, for the sake of his pride). With Melody, his colleagues' mockery didn't matter; he could simply enjoy sharing his love of teaching and history with another human being.

He'd even gotten so absorbed in her portion of the lecture that he forgot to do his part, too intrigued by the melodious quality of Melody's voice.

_"John?" _She'd asked somewhat worriedly, drawing him back to reality.

Cheeks flushed, John managed to catch himself, his hands gesturing emphatically and his face breaking into a grin,

(But for _who?_)

* * *

"Well, that was certainly interesting," Melody laughed, nudging John's side.

"I told you! Didn't I tell you, Melody? You're wonderful."

The brightness faded from her face immediately, the familiar pang of guilt rising in her chest.

_He would never say that if he knew._

But she forced the thought away, shrugging it off.

"I don't know. I'm really not…you're much better at teaching than I am. You have loads more experience and—"

"So? You're a natural, Melody. And I think you're rather brilliant," John whispered, giving her hand a quick squeeze. "We should definitely do this more often."

"Maybe." Her tongue rested on the last syllable. "Though you seemed pretty distracted at times, Sweetie."

"I…I wasn't distracted…"

"No, you were just staring dreamily in my direction when you were supposed to be talking."

"I…that was one time!" he blurted out before placing a hand over his mouth.

"So you admit it!"

"Yes—no! I mean…Melody, I'm just… I'm not used to hearing your professor voice."

_Oh, that man. That ridiculous, wonderful, impossible, amazing man._

"Only _you_ would say that." She chuckled, amused, hand pressing against his red cheek. "And for the record, I'm rather fond of your 'professor voice' too."

* * *

"Why the face?" Melody asked later that week, the sight of John's slumped form unsettling.

"Face? What face?"

"That face where you look like a kicked puppy. Come to think of it, you do that quite often. I'm sure I've mentioned it before."

Releasing an exasperated breath, John pressed his fingers to his forehead.

"I just…well, Clara's working late tonight, and you're about to leave to pick up your brother, so I'm going to be stuck here by myself for a while."

The curly haired woman rolled her eyes.

"Seriously, Sweetie? All you had to do was tell me."

"I…I didn't want to be a bother," his voice sounded mousy, pitiful.

"Come on." Grabbing him by the hand, Melody tugged him out of his desk chair, removing his blazer from the coat rack and handing it to him. "I hope you don't mind picking up Anthony."

* * *

"Melody!" the shrill cry of joy came unmistakably from Anthony Williams, who proceeded to hug his sister before peering at the young man beside her. "Mr. John! You brought Mr. John!" Anthony cheered, detaching himself from Melody and nearly pouncing into John's arms.

"Hey, buddy! How are you? Did you have fun at school? Melody said I could tag along with you guys if that's okay."

"Yeah. That's great. Melody keeps saying she'll bring you sometime. But she never does."

"Well, she brought me today, buddy." He laughed, smiling down at the boy. "Gotta give her some credit."

"Okay. Thanks, Melody." Anthony's little lips kissed Melody's cheek.

"I thought you didn't like kissing?" John scoffed, brows slanted, as if for effect.

"This kind of kissing is okay. Mummy and Daddy kiss me like this. And so does Melody sometimes. But grown up kissing is gross. Bleh." His tongue hung out of his mouth in disgust. "But you don't think so, do you, Mr. John? Cause you want to kiss my big sister."

A squeak escaped John's throat.

_"Anthony!" _Melody scolded, blushing.

"But he does, Melody! He always has that face Daddy has when he wants Mummy to kiss him, that's how I know."

"That's enough, Anthony." Her own heart pounded in her ears, the blood rushing to her face as she stole a glance at John, who seemed in worse condition.

"And you're making the Mummy-face, Melody."

"Anthony, I said that's enough. Now stop it or I'll tell John who you want to kiss." She threatened, voice filled with seriousness.

"Oooh, did you meet a girl, Anthony? Good on you, mate."

"It's _Clara_."

"I hope you don't mind, Mr. John. Because your sister's just so pretty and nice and I think she might be an angel and—"

"I'm sure she would be very touched by that." John nodded, patting Anthony's shoulder.

"Are Mr. John and Miss Clara coming to my birthday party, Melody?"

"I don't know, honey. Have you asked?"

"Mr. John, will you and Clara come to my birthday on March25th in two weeks?"

"We'd love to come, Anthony. I'll double check with my sister. And actually, I just talked to her on the way over, and she told me to say hi to you."

"She did?" he gushed, awestruck.

"Yes, and you might see her later when she comes to pick John up. Now, Anthony, time to go to the playground for a few minutes."

"Will you watch me, Melody?"

"Yes, of course. Now go and get some of that energy out, honey."

* * *

"Sorry about that." Melody whispered as she and John settled on a small bench across from the park.

"He's a sweet kid, your brother."

"I know. He really is. But he never knows when to stop talking. Kind of like someone else I know."

"Really, _who_?"

Laughing, Melody kissed his cheek.

"_You_, Sweetie."

"Wh—Oh, _Melody! _I don't—I don't talk that much, I mean, I am prone to ramble at times, but I really try not to—"

"Exactly." Her curls tickled his skin and he blushed, scratching the place where she'd kissed him.

"I'm not that bad, am I?"

"Actually, you're quite cute when you ramble." She leant against his shoulder, grinning.

"Is that a compliment, Miss Williams?"

"I'll leave that one to you, Sweetie." Her fingers tightened around his, and she sighed contentedly, lost in the moment.

"What's Anthony doing?"

"Um…he's going down the slide right now."

"I loved doing that as a kid."

"Really? I'm surprised you didn't trip on the way up."

_"Hey!"_

"Kidding, Sweetie."

* * *

"You're lookin' awfully pleased with yourself." Clara pointed out hours later.

"Well…"

"Kissed her yet?"

"Wh-no, _no! _Of—of course not! You're as bad as Anthony!" his hands flew in front of his face.

"It's just good to see you happy, John." He sensed the edginess to her voice. "Anthony was being very sweet."

"Poor kid. He's got a huge crush on you. I don't really have the heart to break it to him."

"Oh, don't worry; he'll grow out of it eventually. I think it's kinda cute, though."

"Hmmm." John's head bobbed up and down. "How was work?"

"Fine. I'm kinda ready to start my new job, though."

"Only another two weeks." John reminded reassuringly. "I'm excited for you."

* * *

Perched on the piano bench with his golden retriever huddled at his legs, John pressed his long fingers over the keys, their movement creating a cluster of chords.

"What do you think, Idris, Old Girl? Too much dissonance?"

Clara's footsteps echoed from behind, causing John to turn his head.

"Composing again?"

"Yeah. Sort of. Just tinkering."

"Sounds great as usual, John. What're you gonna call it?"

"I…well, I don't know yet; I'm sort of still working on it." He shrugged.

"I see. John…does Melody know that you play the piano?" it was a gentle question, not forced.

"N-no. I don't—I doubt she would think me any good."

"Sure she would! I think it's amazing that you can play as well as you do."

"I suppose it's because of my acute hearing."

"It's more than that." Clara hugged him from the side, looping her arm around his middle. "I remember when I was a little girl you used to play for me when I couldn't sleep. I thought you were the coolest big brother ever. And you know what? _You still are._" Her whisper cut deep into his hearts, bringing back foggy memories of a little girl with brown hair and wide eyes, his sister, his Clara. He'd loved her then, and he loved her still, even though he hadn't seen that precious face in over ten years. "Goodnight, John."

"Goodnight, Clara."

* * *

_"Melody…" _he started tentatively, the next week, wringing his hands. "I was wondering…would you…"

"John, I don't see what the problem is. We've already gone out a few times, why is it difficult to ask again?"

"I just…I don't know…maybe you won't…"

"Now who's being ridiculous?" her fingertips caressed his palm, kind, soothing.

"I…well…I'm quite fond of music…and Clara…she got me two tickets to see the London Symphony Orchestra on Friday night, and I was wondering if maybe you'd like to go? If—if you like that kind of music that is—because-if—if you don't, that's okay. We could just go somewhere else instead. I don't know…"

"I'd love to go, Sweetie."

"_You would?! _I mean, you would. Okay. Brilliant! We could go out to eat beforehand, cause the concert's sort of late, and then—"

"Should I drive?"

"Clara could—"

"No, she runs around enough as it is, I'll do it. What time do you think?"

"How about six-ish? If—if that works—"

"Sweetie, that's fine."

"Okay. Good."

* * *

"Do you think Melody will like it?"

"Yeah, the white carnation is a nice touch." Clara nodded at the small flower pinned near John's jacket pocket.

"What if—"

"Stop your worrying. How many times have we been over this? Melody wouldn't—"

"That'd be her." His hand sifted through his hair and he straightened his bowtie for about the hundredth time.

"Oh, John, will you ever learn?"

* * *

John and Melody strolled to the car, arms linked.

"So…you do have the tickets, right?"

"'Course I do." Like a magician performing a slight of hand, John whipped two tiny slips of paper out of his jacket pocket.

"Good. Erm…and dinner?"

"Oh, well, wherever you want to go is fine by me." he entered the passenger's seat behind her, smiling.

"I…I don't know. I don't really have a preference."

"We could go to that Italian place again. I promise I won't knock over a table."

"_I_ think you just want to go there because the waiter thought we were married last time." Her remark earned a rather high-pitched cough from John.

"I…that is not-they have good food, Melody! And I never said we had to—"he blubbered, face red.

"Oh, hush, you. We'll go to Gianelli's, alright?"

* * *

Sure enough, the waiter mistook them as husband and wife again, but neither John nor Melody bothered to correct him, too engaged in conversation.

"No, Melody, it—it wasn't like that!" John yelped, hands flying.

"Oh, it totally was. I remember perfectly."

_"Melody—"_

"Don't _"Melody"_ me, Sweetie. You know, for someone who had a 150 IQ at age 10, you are remarkably thick sometimes." She bit back a grin.

"For your information, _Miss Williams_, I am—" Stopping suddenly, John felt the full effect of her words.

"You're _what?"_ she shot back, leaning in.

"N-nothing. Never mind. It's not important." His smile faltered, and he lowered his head.

"Sweetie?" her voice waivered. "I—I'm sorry for calling you thick—I didn't really mean—"Melody wove her fingers through his, apologetic.

"I know. That's not what's bothering me."

"Then what—"

"Melody, you said I had a 150 IQ at age 10."

"Yeah, so? You're really smart; I've always know that, I don't see what—"

"No, you said I had a 150 IQ at age 10. How did you know that?" he asked very slowly, emphasizing each word.

"I…well, you told me at some point, obviously."

"_Melody,_ I don't remember ever telling you that." His voice was calm, cautious.

"Well, you must have. I bet you just forgot. Or maybe Clara told me. How else would I know?" He could tell by her tone she wasn't lying; she was genuinely confused, and that realization troubled him even more.

"Yeah, of course. Must be it." There it was again, that forced smile.

_But Clara doesn't know that either._

And the familiar fear from a few weeks ago returned, seeping deep into his heart. But he shook it off, vainly telling himself that maybe he had told her, unwilling to face the terrifying reality of what it would mean if he hadn't.

* * *

After dinner, they arrived at the concert hall, hand in hand.

"I forgot to mention earlier… You smell nice." John whispered quietly as she led him down the aisle towards their seats.

"Thanks." She mumbled, blushing.

"New perfume?"

"Yeah. It's called petrichor."

"Hmmm. Petrichor. The smell of dust after rain." John hummed to himself, voice whimsical.

"Something like that." Her breath stilled, and she nodded, pulling John down into the seat beside her.

"You're wearing your hair up." He surmised, grinning.

"How did you—"

"It sounds different."

"It _sounds _different?"

"Yes. Your hair is very thick and heavy; when it's down I can hear it bouncing atop your shoulders when you walk."

"Oh."

"I like it." His finger reached up to tuck a loose curl behind her ear.

"I'll keep that in mind." She pursed her lips. "I like the suit."

"Really? You don't think it's too much?"

"No. You…you look…_dashing_, John." Melody's admission touched him more than she knew.

"I think that may be the best compliment you've ever given me, Melody Williams. Thank you."

* * *

When the concert began, John relaxed, breathing deeply, savoring the gloriously full sound of the instruments, their unique timbres creating a beautiful conglomeration of rhythm and melody and harmony.

Holding Melody's hand, he could feel the pattern of her own heartbeat, the soft sensation of her pulse mingling with the music of the orchestra, one and the same.

"What do you think?" he asked during intermission.

"They're amazing."

"Just wait. You haven't even heard the best part yet. They always save their best pieces for the end."

* * *

Melody listened to the orchestra, but soon became distracted by the man beside her. The serenity on his face as he closed his eyes, let go of her hand and wrapped his arm firmly around her shoulders, pulling her near him. She wasn't even sure he'd done it consciously; he didn't turn, didn't falter, didn't miss a single beat of the music. Yet she watched that glow of pure joy, shining bright as the fluorescent lights from the stage reflected on his face, illuminating the soft smile tugging at his lips. In that moment, tucked under his arm, Melody realized that he'd never looked more beautiful.

But with that realization came the awful ache of fear and guilt deep in her gut; because she didn't deserve this, she didn't deserve him. John Smith, who always treated her with care and kindness, John Smith, who always put her feelings above his own, John Smith, who always looked at her with warmth and tenderness, even though he'd never physically seen her.

These thoughts, combined with the intensity of the music left an unexpected heaviness in her chest.

Melody didn't know she was crying until John's contented smile became a worried frown, and his hand cupped her cheek, his fingers sweeping away the tears she didn't know had fallen.

"Hey, what's wrong?" his grey, sightless eyes possessed such love, and her heart wrenched; she didn't answer, burying her face in the curve of his neck as the music swelled around them.

* * *

"Melody…"

"I'm fine, Sweetie. I guess the music just sort of got to me. I don't know."

"Sorry, I didn't mean—"

"No, John, I loved it." Her hand massaged his arm, as if to reiterate.

"I'm glad."

* * *

Pellets of water poured from the sky, tricking down the windows of the car.

"Oh gosh, it's pouring out there. It was only drizzling ten minutes ago." Melody groaned, gripping the driver's wheel. "I didn't think to bring an umbrella."

"Well, if—if you don't want to get wet—which—which would be completely understandable, I could just try going by myself or call Clara—"

"Don't be ridiculous! It's 11 at night, you're not waking your sister at this hour, and you're certainly not going by yourself. Come on."

She helped him out of the vehicle, and John quickly looped his arm around her waist. Together they ran, stumbling up the steps, but managing to get inside the complex, out of breath, dripping wet but laughing happily.

"We made it." Melody huffed, shivering.

"But you're soaked! Are you going to be alright? Melody—" his arms flailed amid the air, and she caught his hand.

"Sweetie, it's alright! You're soaked too, love."

"Yes, but that's okay—I just—"

"I'm fine, John. Now quiet down before we wake up everyone on your floor."

* * *

They reached John's flat in a matter of minutes, still drenched and breathing hard.

"And here we are." Melody beamed, halting.

"Right." His left hand rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "I—ah—I actually—um—I have something for you—I—I forgot to bring it earlier, and seeing as we're soaked, that was probably a good thing. _Anyway_, let me—let me get it—and I'll be out in a sec."

Tapping her foot lightly, the curly haired woman waited for John, leaning against the wall.

To her surprise, he returned fairly quickly without tripping over anything, clutching something behind his back.

"Here."A bouquet of bright white carnations landed in her hands. "I –Clara helped me pick them out this time—so—I know they aren't wilted or anything."

"They're lovely, Sweetie. Thank you." Something about the way his eyes sparkled moved her, and she stumbled backwards, but John's arms caught her in seconds.

"_Woah_. You okay?"

"Yeah. Sorry, it must be the heels." Glancing at the floor, she saw that the bouquet remained undamaged.

"Hmmm."

"I…I had a great night, Sweetie. Thank you."

"Even though we're soaked?"

"Just a minor consolation." Melody chuckled nervously, suddenly light-headed at the sight of John's face.

"Well," he started, drawing back when he knew she'd regained her balance. "It's late."

"Yes."

"You—you should probably go—I don't want to hold you up."

"You're—you're not holding me up." Her heart pounded loudly, _Thump-thump thump-thump thump-thump._

"I mean, I would help you get back home if I could but—well, obviously I can't. And well…the sooner you get home the better because—because then you won't have to worry about the rain anymore. And you can fix your hair and make sure your dress isn't ruined—not that—not that there's anything wrong with your hair because it—it's still pretty even when it's wet—and I'm sure you still look great in that dress even when it's soaked because—because you're always beautiful and—"

Melody's hand brushed his cheek before he could finish, and he could tell she must have been shaking her head.

"Did—did I leave something out? Have I forgotten something?"

"Oh—_Shut up_." Her hands cupped his cheeks and her lips met his, sending his arms into a frenzy as his mouth responded in kind, dancing over hers, echoing a longing he'd held inside for so long before he consciously realized what was happening. She deepened the kiss, hands moving to his waist, pulling him close before she withdrew.

"Wh-what?" Melody stuttered, thrown off by his confusion.

"I just—wasn't—wasn't expecting—"

"Sorry." Her cheeks burned, and she crouched down to retrieve the bouquet, her fingers trembling.

"No, no. It was nice, it was good—"

"Um…I—I'd better go. G-goodnight, Sweetie."

"G-goodnight, Melody." He whispered as the click-clack of her heels faded, his hand lingering where her lips had been moments before.

* * *

Note: So they finally kissed! But don't worry...things will start to get even more interesting in the next chapter. And when I say interesting; well, you'll find out:)


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